


i kiss every memory, one by one

by nettlestingsoup



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Childhood Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightmares, Post-War, Recovery, Trauma, Urban Fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-12 07:21:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 42,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29131728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nettlestingsoup/pseuds/nettlestingsoup
Summary: When Chan is seventeen, he loses his best friend. He and Jeongin have fought a war together, both of them too young to ever see the things they'd seen; but it ends, as all wars do, and Jeongin is gone before Chan can find him to say goodbye. Returning home to a family he hasn't seen in five years, Chan grieves for the bright, shining friend he has to learn to live without.He never quite recovers.But the past has a way of coming back to us unexpectedly, and eight years after the end of the war, Chan meets a trio of young foster parents tasked with taking care of the children left shaken and afraid of their own abilities by the conflict. And one of them seems impossibly familiar.As he and Jeongin try to get to know each other again after eight long years, Chan feels pieces of himself mending that he'd long since given up on. Pieces of his heart slotting into place around Jeongin's smile, and the shape of his eyes, in a way that's different to how it was back when they were children. Still caught up in the blur of nostalgia and nightmares, Chan isn't sure what any of it points to; but he knows that Jeongin's here, beside him again, and that can only mean that everything will turn out right in the end.
Relationships: Bang Chan/Yang Jeongin | I.N, Han Jisung | Han/Lee Minho | Lee Know, Hwang Hyunjin/Kim Seungmin, Lee Felix/Seo Changbin, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 50
Kudos: 114





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I know I said I'd be back in March, but my exams got pushed back so I decided I had time to post this before they start.
> 
> I know JeongChan isn't a super common/popular ship, but this is a story of recovery, and hope, and two people helping each other heal, and I hope that it brings some nice vibes. Title is from Taemin's '2 KIDS', since that's actually the song that inspired me to write this fic back in August!
> 
> Thanks for reading, and please leave kudos or comments if you enjoy this story! Updates every two days <3

When he’s thirteen years old, Chan realises he has a superpower.

He’s not the first one; the news has been spreading slowly for a few years now, children spontaneously exhibiting supernatural abilities. No one knows why, or what it means. No one knows how they will manifest from child to child.

Chan’s mother cuts her hand in the kitchen, crying out in pain as the knife slips, and Chan reaches out to touch her, to try to make it better.

And her eyes widen as the pain simply disappears.

Chan thinks it’s a good thing that there are other children with powers too. He isn’t alone. Schools are organised, treated a little like summer camps for kids still learning to control their powers. Chan can control his just fine, really; he knows how to draw pain out of people, even if he can’t heal them, dissipating the sensation into nothing. But he goes anyway. It’ll be a good way to make friends, his mother says.

* * *

The war breaks out a month later, while Chan is still away from home. He doesn’t know what it’s about, at the time; just that he and the other children are told to stay there, out in the countryside, where things are safer, and the bombs are distant.

He worries about his parents. Hopes that they’re safe, and that they know he misses them. But he has friends where he is, other children like him, and he’s happy. So as far as he knows, everything is fine.

* * *

One year into the war, the camps change ownership. The kindly teachers are taken away, faces pale and pinched with fear, and new leaders arrive. They wear uniforms, and take careful note of each and every ability in the camp. Some children are sent home, and Chan is confused by that; he thought they were here to keep them safe. And the war is still going on, after all. Surely they need to stay?

He isn’t sure when they stop being children and start being soldiers. When their lessons switch from how to keep their powers under control to how to use them, how to _hurt ._

Chan can’t cause pain with his abilities, he thinks. He can only take it away.

"You’ll still come in handy," one of their new teachers tells him. "Trust me."

* * *

They’re sent out a year later. Chan is fifteen, and he’s kept a long way back from the fighting as other soldiers - other _children_ \- are brought to him with wounds too awful to see.

"Fix them," he’s told. "Make it so that they can still fight."

So he draws away their pain. Watches them get up, still bleeding and broken, and head back out. His nightmares start then. Chan gets more and more exhausted, barely sleeping, unable to ever feel safe.

But six months later, he makes a friend. His name is Jeongin, and he’s barely eleven years old. He can make light and shadow dance however he likes, plunging a room into darkness or luminescence; the soldiers in charge think he’s useful, Chan can tell, and he wants nothing more than to hold this bright, energetic child close to his chest and never let him be taken away to the mud and blood and fear outside. Most nights, Jeongin will climb up to him in his bunk, holding a little light wrapped in shadow so that no one but the two of them can see it. Chan tells him stories then, wrapping him up in his arms and trying to help him sleep. _He’s only a child_ _,_ he thinks. _He can’t fight. They can’t make him fight._

But they do. Chan watches sections of the battlefield fall into darkness, or flare with light, and he knows that Jeongin is out there.

They bring him back to Chan once, a bullet hole in his shoulder. He’s so pale, and so small, and so very young, and Chan feigns exhaustion to avoid sending him back out. "I can’t do it," he says. "Please, I’m too tired, I can’t fix him."

Jeongin is taken to the medical tent, and Chan doesn’t see him for a few days. When he does, he climbs down and sleeps in the bottom bunk with him; Jeongin can’t climb up, after all, not with the wound in his shoulder, but Chan still needs to keep him safe. Still needs to look after him as best he can.

* * *

Chan is seventeen when the war ends. He and the others are shipped home just in time to watch the government that sent them to fight disassembled. A good number of them are jailed for human rights violations. It doesn’t feel like enough.

He doesn’t see Jeongin when they leave. He’s thirteen by then, just beginning to grow tall, and Chan grieves for him as though he’s dead. He can’t help it. After losing so many friends, his mind doesn’t know how else to feel about the sudden lack of Jeongin by his side; the silence where his voice should be.

By that time, Chan hasn’t seen his mother in nearly five years. They both sob when he comes home, holding each other close, and he can see the grief and guilt in her eyes at the idea that she ever sent him away.

* * *

Once he’s settled back into his home and his life, Chan takes to walking the streets of the still-broken city at night. He’s eighteen, and he has more nightmares than he knows how to cope with; dreams of battlefields and blood and soldiers too young to even be called that, brought to him in so much pain it makes him want to fall to pieces in the mud.

But the city is quiet. There are no more bombs here, although a great many buildings lie shattered into rubble; there are no more propaganda leaflets rained down from the sky, although some remain, still pasted to walls and bleached from sunlight.

So, Chan just walks, and tries to remember how to find some semblance of peace.

* * *

Eight years later, he’s still trying. He’s moved out of his parents’ house and has a little flat of his own. During the day, he works with the repair crews around the city, putting things slowly back together. The work exhausts him, lifting heavy stone and clearing away rubble to build something new, but Chan still can’t sleep.

He doesn’t tell anyone he meets that he has any kind of ability; that he was a part of the war they talk about from the perspective of people who saw the city fall to pieces around them. He doesn’t think he can use his power anymore, anyway. He tried once, on his father when he broke his arm falling off a ladder, and the wave of fear and guilt and hopelessness that came with it was enough to make him spend the next few days in bed.

He still wanders around the city at night.

And on one notable occasion, gets hit by a moped.

"Shit," he hears a deep, helmet-muffled voice say as he falls to the ground, skidding on his hands. "Are you ok?"

Chan struggles to his feet, hissing in pain at the sight of his bleeding palms; there doesn’t seem to be any other injury, though, even if he does think his hip will bruise rather spectacularly. The driver removes his helmet and jogs over to him, taking hold of one of his hands. He’s a little taller than Chan, features bright and delicate and marked by scatterings of freckles.

"Are you good?" he asks. "Ah, shit, your hands. Do you want me to drive you to a hospital? I don’t think I hit you super hard, but-"

"No," Chan interrupts. "You can't- no hospitals. I won't go to a hospital." _There’s too much pain there_ _,_ he thinks, _s_ _o much pain all wanting to be drawn away, to be helped, and I can't-_

"Ok, ok," the stranger says quickly, tucking his helmet beneath his arm. It must be old, Chan realises; it still has war stickers on it. _Victory Through Superhumanity,_ they read, and Chan feels sick. "You’ve gone pretty pale, though... let me take you back to mine. It's not far, and I can clean up your hands and see if you've got a concussion or anything. Does that sound good?"

Chan sighs. He doesn’t think he’s going to be allowed to leave. "Yeah," he says. "Why not?"

"Great!" the stranger says with a brilliant grin. "I’m Felix, by the way."

"Chan."

"Hop on, Chan. You can take my helmet. I've got a thick skull."

Felix isn’t lying when he says that he doesn't live far; they drive for barely five minutes, swerving around potholes where parts of the road still haven’t been repaired. The journey is made shorter still by the cut-throughs he takes, his little moped rattling over rubble-strewn scrubland surrounded by fallen chain-link fence. There was a building here, Chan recalls as his sense of direction from before the war tugs at him. A school, maybe.

It’s one of the ways the war lives on, he knows. Technically, it may be over, but Chan sees it around him every day. It’s in the way a whole street will flinch at the sound of falling stone; the fear and relief in his mother’s voice if he calls her even two minutes after the time they agreed upon; in places like this, holes where there wasn’t enough left standing for it to be fixed.

It’s in people like him, wandering the streets alone.

He doesn't know if it'll ever end.

"Here we are!" Felix calls cheerfully, bringing the moped to a halt. "Home, sweet home."

Chan looks up to see a tall building, maybe three stories or even four, with the word _HOME_ embossed in a brass plate above the door. It would be somewhat unsettling, Chan thinks, if he couldn't see that someone had strung it with tinsel and pompoms, the latter gone a little soggy from last night’s rain.

"Come on in!" Felix tells him. "I'll dig out the first aid kit."

Chan follows him up the steps and into a dark kitchen, hovering in the doorway until Felix flicks on the light, casting the room into warmth. There must be children here, he realises, the table littered with miscellaneous toys and homework, and crayon drawings stuck to the fridge. Felix seems a little young to have children, in his opinion, but he knows a lot of people married young during the war, not knowing how much time they'd have.

"Ok!" Felix says brightly, pulling open one of the cupboards. "First aid kit!" Chan hears the sound of a box clicking open. "Ah, no. That's the one Maisie filled with pretty stones. Ok. I'll find the other one." He pokes his head out of the cupboard with a smile. "Sit down, ok? Make yourself at home."

Chan does as he asks, pulling out a slightly worn wooden chair. He can see a faint green mark on it, and he thinks that someone might have written their name in blue pen, only to have a parent scrub it away, and the image makes him smile.

Eventually, Felix finds the real first aid kit, and sits down to tend to Chan’s hands. The bleeding has mostly stopped, but he carefully wipes away the dry blood and grit, humming gently as he does. "There!" he says cheerfully, pulling away and patting Chan's hand. "All done." He reaches into a pocket of his overalls, and pulls out a lollipop. "There you go!"

Chan stares at it for a moment, the bright red wrapper peppered with little dots of yellow that imply it’s strawberry flavoured. "Uh... Thanks?" he says hesitantly, reaching out, and Felix's eyes widen.

"Oh! Sorry. Kids. I am… used to dealing with kids. I'll just-" he motions to put the sweet back in his pocket, then pauses, offering it out again. "-unless you...?"

Chan hesitates, and then reaches out to take it. "Thanks," he says softly, and Felix smiles gratefully. "How many do you have?" Chan asks. "Kids, I mean, not lollipops."

Felix laughs. "Five right now. They’re a handful."

Chan does his best not to look too surprised. Felix is definitely too young to have _five children_ _._ "Wait- right now? Does your wife have another one on the way?"

Felix just looks at him for a long moment. "No," he says slowly. "They're not... They're not _my_ kids exactly, they're just… kids. That I take care of."

It clicks for Chan, then. The large house. The caretaker too young to be a parent. The word _HOME_ above the door. "Oh," he says softly. "This is a war home, isn't it?"

Felix winces. "We don't- we don't call it that," he says delicately. "It's just home for these kids. No need to bring the war into it."

"Right," Chan says apologetically. "Yeah, of course." He pauses, looking around at the warmth of the kitchen, the drawings stuck to the fridge. "My parents and I talked about me going to one of these places," he says softly.

Felix's expression shifts. "Oh. I'm sorry, I didn't know that you were-"

"Don't worry about it," Chan tells him quickly, not wanting Felix to ask about his abilities. "Are you-?"

"No, no," Felix says. "The other two Guardians of this place are, though. One of them has powers but was never used in the war effort, and the other... He spent a good few years on the front lines. Wants to help things heal, now." He tilts his head. "Why were your parents going to send you to a home, if you don't mind me asking?"

Chan sighs. These were heavy memories. The months after the war, where his parents had been doing their best to get to know their son again, when he’d changed so very much. "Nightmares," he says. "Trauma, y' know? A teenager is difficult enough to deal with, let alone a teenager who screams when he sleeps. They thought... They thought I could get better care somewhere like this. But my mum… I don’t think she wanted to send me away again. Not after what happened last time." He shrugs. "I was too old for most places to take me, anyway."

"No such thing here," Felix says lightly. "Anyone who needs healing is welcome. Hey, one of our kids wasn’t even born during the war, but his parents just… struggled. War trauma, plus an unexpected baby who started showing off his powers pretty much as soon as he turned two… a bit much, you know? So they brought him to us, and they visit when they can. We have a couple of regular visitors who are adults, too. They just come to talk things out, and be in an environment where it’s ok to… struggle a bit, you know?" His face lights up. "Hey, how about I write down our address for you? I know we only just met, but... I think maybe it would do you some good to meet the other Guardians, and the kids."

"Uh... Yeah," Chan agrees, a little wrong-footed by the level of kindness Felix seems willing to offer him. "That... That might be nice, actually."

"Lix?" a voice from the doorway says while Felix scrambles through a drawer for a pencil, and Chan watches Felix's entire demeanour soften as he turns to the little boy in the doorway. He's not even six years old, Chan thinks, and as he watches, he notices the boy buzz slightly from side to side like a broken hologram.

"Hey, Arin," Felix says gently, moving to crouch down in front of him. "Did we wake you up?"

"I crackled and I fell out of bed," Arin says in a small, tired voice, and Felix makes a gentle, empathetic sound.

"What do we think will fix it?" he asks kindly. "Should I kiss it better?"

"Kiss," Arin mumbles, sounding just a little tearful, and Chan watches out of the corner of his eye as Felix picks Arin up and presses little kisses to every inch of his face until he smiles, finally blowing a raspberry on his stomach. Arin laughs, glitches settling as he lies in Felix’s arms, and Chan finds himself smiling.

"Let’s get you back to bed, yeah?" Felix says to him, and Chan rises from his chair.

"I'll... I'll go," he says weakly, and Felix turns to smile at him.

"One mo," he says. "I’ll write that address down for you." He sits Arin on his knee, scrawling the address down quickly and handing Chan the piece of paper. "Come back during the daytime. Please. I’m sure the others would love to meet you."

"I will," Chan promises, and as he walks out of the warm glow of the kitchen, heading down the stairs and turning to see the _HOME_ sign, sparkling with tinsel in the moonlight, he thinks he means it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! We get a few more characters today, so enjoy. Yes, one of them is non-binary, because I am non-binary and I think I deserve a little a representation, as a treat.
> 
> Next update Friday <3

Chan's already awake when the message from Seungmin comes through with the dawn; he hadn't slept well after his visit to the Home, nightmares still tugging at him and jolting him awake every few minutes. Not that that's unusual.

_neighbour seungmin: hey, i know it’s your day off, but can you be on hyunjin duty today? he's hurt his ankle so he can't go out and i'm working._

Chan types out a quick affirmation, asking what time Seungmin wants him there. Hyunjin can most likely handle being alone for ten minutes before his abilities start to kick in, but it’s better that Chan gets there before Seungmin leaves, really.

By the time he's dressed, splashing cold water over his face in an attempt to chase away the exhaustion, Seungmin's replied.

_neighbour seungmin: i need to leave for work in about 45_

So Chan takes his time trying to eat his breakfast, cutting up fruit to add to it along with rather more sugar than he should. He can't really eat plain food anymore, he's found. Too many bad memories.

Once he's done, he grabs his phone and his keys, leaving his wallet on the table. It isn't as though he'll need it sitting in his neighbours' flat until Seungmin comes home; he's long since learned that Hyunjin won't let him pay for anything if they order food in, saying it's the least he can do in exchange for Chan being so kind.

Chan doesn't think it's unusually kind to help out his neighbour, even if the situation is just a little strange.

Because Hyunjin simply _can't_ be left alone. It's to do with his abilities, Seungmin had explained when he and Chan first met. As long as he has company, they're completely dormant; but solitude activates them somehow, causing Hyunjin to fold space at crazed angles just to bring someone, anyone, closer to him.

"It's why I was just sent home when the military took over the camps," Hyunjin had told Chan on their first day together. "They couldn't find a use for me. Battlefields aren't exactly lonely places, after all."

"No," Chan had agreed quietly, holding in the fact that he was in those camps too, that he wasn’t sent home. "I suppose they're not."

So, Chan heads down to Seungmin and Hyunjin’s flat, greeting Hyunjin when he opens the door, leaning heavily on the doorframe to avoid putting one of his feet down.

"Hey, Chan. Seungmin! Chan’s here! You can get going!"

"So quick to get rid of me," Seungmin jokes, appearing from the kitchen. "I’ll die one day and you’ll bury me before I’ve even gone cold. Thanks for this, Chan."

"It’s no problem. I brought extra painkillers for the ankle, just in case we run out."

"You’re a lifesaver," Seungmin says with a smile, and he leans up to kiss Hyunjin quickly on the cheek. "I’ll see you later, ok?"

"Love you," Hyunjin tells him. "Have a good day."

Chan steps back as Seungmin slips past him and down the stairs, and then steps into Hyunjin and Seungmin’s flat fully. It’s cosy; cosier than his, definitely, blankets draped haphazardly over the sofas and shelves all stacked with photographs of the two of them when they were young. They’ve known each other a long time, Chan knows, but it seems to hit home whenever he sees photos of them as children, gaps still in their teeth as they smile at the camera.

"How did you hurt your ankle?" Chan asks as he helps Hyunjin limp towards the sofa.

Hyunjin laughs sheepishly. "Honestly, it’s pretty stupid. I was trying to dodge around some barbed wire on one of the streets that hasn’t been fixed, and I put my foot straight in a hole. It’s not broken or anything, just badly sprained."

"We should get you some crutches," Chan suggests. "So you can walk around a bit better. Not because I have any issue with hanging out with you, just… I imagine freedom would be a bit more fun."

"Probably," Hyunjin agrees. _"B_ _ut_ not being able to move means that I can get people to do things for me, so…" he pauses, and Chan almost laughs as he manages to somehow give off the impression that he’s batting his eyelids even though he doesn’t move a muscle. "Make me a cup of tea?"

"Sure. I’ll make you tea."

As Chan waits for the kettle to boil, his gaze is drawn back to the photographs. There are a few of each of them individually, as well as in a pair, and Chan finds his eye settling on one of Hyunjin; he’s around eighteen, standing on the steps of a large, soot-stained house with two older women and one man. His Guardians.

"Hey, Hyunjin?" he calls into the living room.

"Yeah?"

"You grew up in a home, right?"

"Yeah," Hyunjin calls back. "Seungmin and I have told you this story. He was the only non-powered kid who’d talk to me."

"I remember that," Chan confirms, pouring water into their mugs after the kettle clicks. "I guess I’m just curious about the home itself, really. Was it… was it nice?"

"Oh, yeah," Hyunjin tells Chan as he makes his way carefully over, gently passing over a mug. "It was… It was home, you know? Even if I didn’t think it was at first. My Guardians were always great, and they dealt with a traumatised, super-powered kid who just kept yelling for his parents pretty well." He goes a little quiet then, staring into his tea. "I don’t know how many of my memories of my birth parents are just memories of my Guardians that I’ve stuck their faces over, really. They meant a lot to me. Still do; I visit, when I can." He looks up with a slightly fragile smile. "What’s got you so curious?"

"I went to one last night," Chan tells him. "I didn’t spend long there, but… the Guardian I met told me that I should go back. That it might be a healing experience."

"Do you think you’ll take them up on it?"

Chan shifts on the sofa, uncertain of how to answer. "I don’t know. I sort of want to, but… I don’t know."

"If you want to, then what’s the harm?" Hyunjin asks. "And even if you don’t find it that beneficial, there’s always the kids. It’s kind of good for them to have adults around who survived the war, I think, even if you weren’t really that involved."

Chan suppresses a wince. He’s never found it in him to tell Hyunjin and Seungmin that he _was_ involved in the war, that he was one of the children who spent years out there. They are, without a doubt, the people he’s closest to, but… he’s never been able to say it. "Maybe I will go back, then," he manages to say. "Just once, to see what it’s like."

"I think you should," Hyunjin agrees. "Even if you _have_ put it all behind you, there’s always more healing to do. I think so, anyway. We’ve all got too many old wounds to sit around expecting our all stitches to hold."

"Yeah," Chan murmurs, unsure of how to respond. "I guess so."

He’ll go back, he decides. Just to say hello to Felix, if nothing else, or talk to a few of the kids.

It’ll be nice.

* * *

Chan heads back to the home three days later; he wants to go earlier, almost as soon as Hyunjin convinces him of it, but he spends the next day working, clearing rubble from an old site so that something new could be built, and barely sleeps the night after. Nightmares drag him back to wakefulness and again and again, and he spends the following day in a blurry haze of caffeine and occasional naps.

But the day after that, he makes the decision to visit. Not for long, he decides, just an hour or maybe less, but enough so that Felix wouldn't be disappointed. Enough to see if it makes a difference. And so, the address clutched in his hand, Chan wanders across the city early in the afternoon, heart rising high in his throat as he wonders what the rest of the family within the home might be like.

He finds it with surprising ease; it makes sense, he supposes, given how familiar he is with the city, but it still surprises him that he's never come across the place before. Perhaps he has, he reasons, but he just never quite noticed it; he's often more concerned with buildings that are falling apart, after all. Intact ones rarely come onto his radar.

Chan's hand shakes more than he expects as he raises it to knock. What is he afraid of? Felix seems nothing but kind, and he’d implied that the Guardians get plenty of fully-grown visitors who were affected by the war.

There's nothing to be afraid of.

The door swings open before he can knock, and a man with shining eyes crashes right into him.

"Oh! Hello. What were you hovering there for?"

There's no annoyance or frustration in the stranger's tone, and as Chan looks up from where he'd pressed himself against the railings of the stairs, he's almost overwhelmed by a sudden spark of joy.

"Uh- sorry," he begins to say. "I was just- I was about to knock, but-" he breaks off, finding himself laughing a little, and the stranger laughs in return, his smile bright and lovely.

"The door knocked you instead! Well, I suppose it was me, really. Come in! I was only heading out to the corner shop, I can go once we've sorted you out."

A little bemused, Chan follows him into the familiar kitchen. There's a little girl at the table, colouring, and a boy who's maybe in his late teens. He ignores Chan utterly, but the little girl fixes him with a remarkably serious gaze.

"This is Maisie and Oak," the smiling man says. "I'm Minho! And you are?"

"Chan," Chan tells him. "I'm Chan."

"Ok," Minho says patiently, smiling gently, and Chan feels that brilliant spark fade into a subtle glow of joy in his chest. "And what brings you to us, Chan?"

"Oh!" Chan says, awkwardly holding out the address as though it’s some kind of ticket. "Felix gave me this a few nights ago. He, uh, hit me with his moped."

Oak laughs very slightly, and Minho smiles conspiratorially at him. "Sounds like Felix," he agrees. "And he gave you our address why?"

Chan hesitates, unsure of how to explain. "We… We got talking about the… the war," he says, voice faltering a little. "He said that I should come back and meet people here? I don't- he didn't say exactly _why_ _,_ just that… he thought it might be good," he finishes awkwardly. Somehow, it doesn't feel awkward though. It feels like Minho is patient and interested in what he's saying, and that he understands. Is that just a side effect of places like this, Chan wonders? This sense of safety?

"Ok!" Minho says with yet another smile. Chan doesn’t think he’ll ever run out. "We're actually all in today, so I can introduce you to everyone and you can just sit around and chat if you want. That's what most people do." He holds one palm over Maisie's head, wiggling his fingers. "This is Maisie! She's our middle child. Maisie, do you want to show our new friend Chan what you can do?"

Maisie perks up at that, gaze brightening at the opportunity to show off; chair scraping loudly against the floor as she abandons her colouring and crosses the room, she takes one of Chan's hands in both of her own, pushing against his fingers to close them in a loose fist. Her fingers are so small next to his, and Chan has to look away for a moment, pushing back a wave of grief and horror at the thought of other children who’d gripped his hand, slick with blood and mud in the fear of it all.

And then there's something in his palm.

Blinking in surprise, Chan unfurls his fingers to reveal a pretty blue stone; it's more a mineral than a gem, veins of periwinkle and violet running through it, but it's very lovely. It reminds him of something Felix had said on his first visit here. About Maisie filling a first aid kit with rocks.

Maisie looks up at him expectantly, and Chan breaks into a smile without thinking. "Thanks, Maisie," he says. "This is really pretty."

"You can make necklaces out of them," she says, and across the table, Oak reaches up and lifts several cords strung around his neck, revealing a different coloured stone strung on each one.

"I think it would suit him," Minho agrees, and Chan notices for the first time a pendant of some brilliant orange stone bouncing against his sternum. Obviously, using abilities is encouraged here. "And this is Oak! They're our eldest. Their abilities are a little more unconventional, but we're working them."

"What can you do?" Chan asks. "If you don't mind me asking." Oak raises his- their, Chan corrects himself- hands to reveal thin leather gloves covering them.

"Anaesthetic," they say, and Chan nods in understanding.

"It's very useful when they're in control of the dosage," Minho points out. "It's been especially helpful for one of our Guardians. He doesn't sleep much at night, and Oak can help with that."

Chan nods. "Yeah, I… I get that. Felix said one of you was on the front lines for a bit?"

"That's him," Minho confirms. "If he wakes up while you're here, I'll introduce you. Want to meet the other kids?"

Minho trails Chan around almost every room of the house; they bypass the living room, where the third Guardian is apparently under the influence of Oak's abilities, tiptoeing past the door. Chan is reintroduced to Arin, the youngest, who's playing some kind of board game with Felix. He's cheating, it seems, by glitching quickly onto Felix's lap and stealing his pieces, and Felix is pretending not to notice.

"Hey, Chan!" he says happily. "You came back! It's good to see you."

"You, too," Chan replies and then, at a loss for what to say, holds up the little rock he received. "Maisie gave me a stone."

Felix laughs. "You know, we have a special drill that's reserved just for putting holes into those things if you wanted to make a necklace out of it."

"I'd like that," Chan agrees, and Felix's smile grows even brighter.

After that, he meets Sasha, a year younger than Oak, who seems to have a remarkable affinity with dust; it swirls around her hand when she shyly waves hello, and makes her sneeze. She spent a single month in the war before it ended, apparently, and Chan is fiercely glad that it wasn't longer. He doesn't know how much weight the generals would have placed on her shoulders if she had learned full control of the endless choking dust of the battlefields.

The final member of the family is Ruva; she's younger than Maisie by only a month, something she makes very clear indeed, and colour bleeds into everything she touches; Chan watches the soft umber of her skin ripple temporarily as a vibrant shade of raspberry spreads across Minho's hand when she takes it.

"That's beautiful," Chan says without thinking, and Ruva looks just as proud of it as Maisie did of her rocks.

"You encourage them to like their powers, don't you?" Chan asks Minho as they head back down to the kitchen.

"Yeah," Minho replies softly. "Kids like Sasha and Oak have had such awful experiences with their powers that it would be easy for them to hate the fact that they can do such incredible things. The younger ones have never had that, of course, but it's still important that they accept it as part of them." He turns, eyes bright with curiosity. "What is it that you do?"

"Oh," Chan says, a little uncomfortable with the question. He’s not used to talking about this, is more inclined to hide his past and his powers away. "I- I take away pain. Or I did. I can't anymore. Well, I can, but- I don't. Not after what they made me do with it out there." He can't look Minho in the eyes as he says it, but he can still feel that _glow_ from him. Warmth and joy and home.

"That's ok," Minho tells him softly. "I think maybe you and Oak should talk. You might understand each other pretty well."

 _Anaesthetic_ _,_ Chan remembers Oak saying. "Yeah," he agrees. "We might."

Minho is halfway through having a quiet word with Oak, Chan listening patiently to Maisie explain her drawing to him, when the third Guardian walks into the kitchen.

He doesn’t seem to see Chan at first, and Chan watches him stretch, apparently stiff from sleeping on the sofa; he's tall, and the motion brushes his fingertips against the ceiling light. It glows brighter for a moment, the shadows in the corners of the room deepen, and Chan is hit with a wave of nostalgia and old pain. Something in this stranger, the lines of him and the glow of the light, reminds him of someone.

And then Ruva rushes down the stairs calling his name.

"Jeongin!" she cries out, wrapping her arms around his hips; it's as high as she can reach on someone so tall, and a startling shade of teal seeps out of her hands and cheek and into the pale grey of Jeongin's jumper.

He looks down, turning slightly so that he's facing away from Chan, and Chan wishes with a desperate urgency that he'd turn back so that his features are clear.

He’s so very familiar.

And his name. Jeongin.

 _I_ _t_ _can't really be him,_ he tells himself, fighting back every memory of the tiny child who had climbed into his bunk, wrapping them in their own personal bubble of light. _There must be other Jeongins in this country, it can't be him_.

But then the Guardian looks up, and Chan just… stops.

Because it _is_ him. His Jeongin. He looks different, of course, grown taller than Chan, features sharpened by adolescence and lack of sleep, but his eyes… long and dark and delicate. It's Jeongin. Working as a Guardian in a home barely half an hour away from Chan's flat.

"We've got a visitor," Minho tells him, and Chan's heart all but stops in his chest as Jeongin looks down at him, eyes lighting up from curiosity to recognition to wonder with all the suddenness of a star falling. "This is-"

"Chan?" Jeongin whispers, delicate and hesitant, and Chan takes a long moment to process the way his voice has deepened in the eight years since they've seen each other.

And for a few seconds, Chan just can’t speak. "Yeah," he manages to say eventually, voice coming out as a hoarse rasp. "Yeah," he says again, a little more clearly. "It's me, it's… It's Chan."

Gently, Jeongin detaches Ruva's hands, crossing the kitchen to stand barely a foot away from him. He can't seem to close the rest of the distance, and Chan doesn't know if he can either; he wants to pull Jeongin close as he did before, hold him like Jeongin's still a child Chan's decided to protect, to tuck Jeongin's head under his chin and make sure he sleeps. But Jeongin is too tall for that, now.

"You grew," he says without thinking. "I thought- I was sure you were- I didn't think you-"

 _I didn't think you survived._ He can't say it.

"You grew," he says again, and Minho and the others watch, wide-eyed, as Jeongin bursts into tears.

It's the tears that prompt them to close the distance, Jeongin leaning down to hug him and Chan doing his best to wrap Jeongin up completely in his embrace as he used to. It doesn't really work, leaving them in an untidy tangle of arms and foreheads knocking against chins, but they manage for a little while, neither of them particularly willing to let go.

 _"Oh,"_ Minho says eventually, as though he's only just understanding. "Chan! Your Chan! The one who looked after you! Oh, we've heard so many stories about you!"

And that’s the moment Chan starts crying too. Jeongin remembered him. Jeongin told _stories_ about him, eight years after they’d parted ways.

"Come on, guys," Minho tells Oak and the girls quietly. "Let's leave them to it, yeah?"

They disappear up the stairs, and for what might be one minute or ten, Jeongin and Chan simply stand there, holding each other, tears still soaking into each other’s clothes. It’s all they _can_ do, Chan thinks, after so very long. If he’s honest, Chan is still struggling to convince himself that Jeongin’s really here.

Eventually though, he manages to pull himself away long enough to sit down at the kitchen table, Jeongin following suit. He doesn't seem to want to let go of Chan's hand, and Chan is more than happy to indulge him there. He isn't sure if he ever wants Jeongin out of his sight again. Not until he’s certain that this is real.

"So," he says into the tearstained silence. "You're… You're a Guardian now. A tall Guardian."

Jeongin laughs, and the shape of it is so achingly familiar that Chan almost starts crying again. He’s alive. He’s really alive. "Yeah. A tall Guardian." For a moment, neither of them say anything else. But Jeongin wipes a few more stray tears from his eyes, and smiles. "What about you?" he asks.

"Repair crews," Chan tells him. "Trying to rebuild, you know?"

"Yeah," Jeongin agrees. "I get it."

Another long silence, Jeongin's fingers wrapped around Chan's like a vice.

"I wrote you letters," he says eventually. It seems like all he can think to say, and Chan wonders if he’s imagined this conversation time and time again, waiting for Chan to come back to him. "When I got back home. I missed you. So I wrote you letters. But I never knew where to post them so I just… stuck them in hedges or left them in shops. In case you found them."

"I didn't," Chan admits, and Jeongin's fragile little smile wobbles. "But I missed you, too. I thought… You weren’t that well when we got sent home, and… I thought you might have died. I thought I hadn't looked after you properly." He can feel tears welling up again, and he does his best to wipe them away with his free hand. "I really thought you were dead. I- I thought-"

And then Jeongin is holding him again, and _god_ he's tall and he's gotten broader in the shoulders too, and Chan finds himself completely overwhelmed again by the fact that Jeongin _grew up_ _._ Jeongin grew up and wrote him letters and hoped he'd reply and Chan has found him again after all this time. He’s alive, and Chan has _found him_.

They cry for a little while longer, both of them too overwhelmed to really speak. They’re here. They’re together. That’s all Chan can focus on.

Eventually, Felix creeps down to the kitchen, concern written over his features. "Hi," he says gently. "Minho told me what happened. Are you two ok?"

"Yeah," Jeongin says quietly as Chan nods, and it's clear from Felix's expression that he doesn't believe them.

"I don't know if- I know we were going to take the kids out this evening, but-"

"Oh," Jeongin says, and Chan watches his expression cycle through guilt and longing and fear. "I- Chan, I- we promised them we'd go, I- I want to talk, but-"

"I'll leave you my number," Chan blurts out, and Jeongin breaks into a smile so bright and so hopeful that Chan almost pulls him close again. "I’d love to talk now, but- if you promised them, then just… call me. Please. I want to talk too."

"Yeah," Jeongin agrees, and there’s something almost frantic in it. "I will. Tomorrow, I'll- I'll call you tomorrow. I'm sorry I have to go, but-"

"Parenting," Chan finishes for him, and his voice cracks a little around the word. Jeongin grew up. Jeongin is a Guardian. "Yeah."

They both stand there, looking a little lost until Jeongin, ever so slowly, releases his hand. Chan feels a little cold without it.

"Tomorrow," Jeongin promises. "I mean it."

And Chan believes him.

* * *

Chan heads back to his flat without really registering where he’s going. He’d left his number with Jeongin, who had held the little slip of paper as though it were a lifeline, eyes tracing every detail of Chan’s face as if he wanted to keep a piece of his old friend behind his eyes until they could see each other again. _His eyes are still the same_ , Chan thinks as he wanders familiar streets, and he feels something in his chest pull taut as he gets further away from Jeongin, as though some tie they once had has been renewed.

It has, he supposes. He’s found his best friend again. After almost nine years, they’re back together.

His bed doesn’t feel right when he collapses into it; it feels too big, and too empty, and when he closes his eyes he feels as though he’s back in his bunk, Jeongin curled up in his arms at the age of eleven, trusting Chan to protect him. They’d been so very close back then. The only people who could really make the other smile. Jeongin had clung to Chan like a life raft, relying utterly on someone who must have seemed so very grown up; and Chan had welcomed it, welcomed the opportunity to feel like he was doing someone some _good_. Every time Jeongin laughed it had warmed his chest, soaking through the cold of the mud.

It had been _so good_ to hear him laugh again.

Tomorrow, he tells himself as he rolls over, trying to get used to the amount of space he has. He’ll talk to Jeongin again tomorrow, and they’ll have more of a chance to catch up, to learn who the other is after so much time. Because they must have changed. Chan knows that he has, knows that he’s fixed some of his old wounds and opened up some new ones, knows that he’s older and wiser than he was. And Jeongin… Jeongin seems so _good_. It’s not that he wasn’t before, of course, but it’s new, it’s different to the childlike brightness he’d always had back then. He’s a good man, now. A man who takes care of children whose lives have been torn apart by war, who doesn’t sleep at night and takes naps on the sofa like any other exhausted father. He’s too young to be a father figure, Chan thinks, but it hurts to think it. After all, he was too young to be a soldier, too. He lost so much of his youth, so much of a carefree childhood that Chan could never quite help him emulate.

He’ll have to apologise to Jeongin for that, he thinks. For not taking care of him enough.

But that’s for tomorrow. Tomorrow, when he gets to see Jeongin again. He finds he doesn’t quite know how to wait; Jeongin’s features, so subtly changed from what they were, are already slipping away from him, fading back into the child he remembers, and Chan wants desperately to see him again so that he can fix it.

Tomorrow, he tells himself again, and he almost hears it in Jeongin’s voice.

Tomorrow.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want to hear more about my works in progress, come say hi on my tumblr @nettlestingsoup! I post excerpts, complaints about the writing process, and skz things <3


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is basically just the prelude to Jeongin and Chan spending the rest of the fic acting like children together. I hope you enjoy it!
> 
> (Note: I don't know how dishwashers work. I did a very quick google about common issues you might have with your dishwasher, and that's as far as I went.)
> 
> Next update Sunday <3

As soon as Chan wakes up the next day, he checks his phone, turning up the volume so that he’ll hear it ring. He has no idea when Jeongin will call, really; he doesn’t sleep well at night, Chan knows, so maybe he’ll spend part of the day asleep, and call in the afternoon. Or maybe he’s just as eager to talk as Chan is; maybe the call will come early, before Chan’s even really started his day. Chan just wishes that he  _ knew . _

It doesn’t even seem real that Jeongin will call him at all.

In the end, the call doesn’t come until the evening. Chan almost drops his phone when it starts ringing, the sound jarring in the quiet of his flat; he’d turned the volume up so loud to be sure that he’d hear it over the sound of falling rubble and machinery that he cringes against it now that he’s in silence. He manages to hold onto it, though, and answers a little breathlessly, mouth suddenly dry.

"Hello?" he says.

"Hi, Chan," he hears Jeongin say hesitantly on the other end of the line, some small amount of background noise settling behind the words. Chan still isn’t used to the way his voice has changed. He wants to hear it more, let it grow familiar. "How… how are you?"

Chan gets the impression that he doesn’t quite know what to say. He understands. Something about this seems so tenuous, so hesitant, each of them wanting to take a step closer but not quite knowing how. It’s been so very long, after all.  _ I want things to be the way they were, _ he thinks they’re both saying.  _ I missed you, and I want to get to know you again, but I don’t know how to begin. _

"I’m good," he says, unsure of how else to begin. "How was last night? With the kids, I mean."

Down the phone, Jeongin audibly exhales in relief, and Chan’s heart hums a little. They can find points of connection. Things to talk about. They can do it.

"It was fun!" Jeongin tells him, and the warmth in his tone is enough to make Chan want to cry. "We took them out to the outdoor science exhibition. It used to be in the big expo building, but…" he trails off.

"Yeah," Chan says as brightly as he can, trying to dispel the shadow the war is casting over their conversation. The expo centre was bombed, reduced to ash and rubble and broken steel, and the repair teams haven’t even touched it after eight years. It's just too much. "I remember that! I went once or twice when I was a kid. All this really cool stuff about new tech, right? How did the kids find it?"

"Oh, they loved it," Jeongin says, and Chan can almost visualise the way his face lights up in a smile. He wishes he could see it; that smile has changed a little since he last saw it, and he wants to memorise every new detail. "They had so much really interactive stuff for the younger ones, and Oak actually spent ages at one of the stalls talking to the staff there. I think they made a really good impression on them."

"That’s great! They’ll be leaving school soon, right?"

"Yup! So if they can get a job or an internship or something at one of these places that would be fantastic."

They talk for a little while longer, Chan’s apprehension easing with every anecdote or detail they share. It’s obvious that despite his changes, Jeongin still has so much of the same  _ brightness  _ about him; the light that drew Chan out of his own mind back when they first met, helped him realise that there were still things to care about, things worth protecting. He supposes it makes sense; with a trait like that, Jeongin must make an excellent Guardian.

"I was… I was wondering if you’d want to meet up sometime soon?" Jeongin asks once the light has completely faded from the sky. "I mean, I know you must be busy, but… I want to see you again." The words are so soft, so hopeful, so  _ hesitant _ that Chan wants to reach out and hold him.

"Of course I want to," he tells him. "Of course I want to see you."

"Oh," Jeongin says, and Chan thinks he might be on the verge of tears. "That’s great, that’s… when are you- I don’t know if there’s something in particular you want to do, or-"

"Should we just get coffee?" Chan asks. "We can get takeout and sit somewhere and just… just talk."

"Yeah," Jeongin agrees, voice still shaking. "Let’s get coffee and talk."

They arrange to meet up the day after next at the little café down the street from Chan; the coffee is decent, Chan knows, and they can either sit in or wander the streets together. Chan doesn’t care which. He just wants to see Jeongin. He feels it like a physical ache, a thread binding them together that cuts his ribs whenever he thinks about the distance time might have put between them. They’ll close it, he tells himself. All the miles and years of distance. They’ll close it.

"I’ll.... I’ll see you the day after tomorrow, then," he says down the phone as the conversation appears to slow to a halt. He doesn’t want it to, but it’s late, and they both have work in the morning. They should at least try to sleep.

"Yeah," Jeongin confirms, and he sounds just as wistful as Chan. "The day after tomorrow."

For a moment, there’s silence between the two of them, each of them at a loss for how to say goodbye. Jeongin is the one to break it.

"I might text you tomorrow," he admits, and Chan feels himself smile. "If I… if there’s anything I want to say. Is that ok?"

"Yeah," Chan agrees, relief flooding his chest. "That’s ok. It’s more than ok."

"Great," Jeongin says, and Chan can hear in his tone that he’s just as desperate to reconnect properly as Chan is. "I’ll do that, then."

"Please do," Chan replies, and he hears Jeongin laugh, more out of relief than any real humour.

"Ok. I’ve got to set up nightlights for the kids, so... talk soon?"

"Yeah. Talk soon. Goodnight, Jeongin."

"Goodnight, Chan."

The phone clicks off, and Chan is hit by a wave of joy and longing and loneliness so intense that for a moment, he can’t quite breathe. It passes, slowly, leaving him exhausted in the wake of it, and he curls up in bed still holding his phone. They’re starting again, he tells himself. It was always going to be emotional.

But it’s going to be  _ wonderful . _

With the softness of Jeongin’s laughter still settled in his ears, Chan sleeps easier than he has in a long, long time.

* * *

Chan is early to their meeting when the day comes around. He hovers outside the coffee shop for a moment, wondering whether or not to get them a table, hands shaking just a little. When will he stop being so nervous about this, he wonders? So afraid that the fragile threads the two of them are weaving back together will fray under their hands? Perhaps he’s just tired. The nightmares had been bad again last night, images of things Chan doesn’t think he’ll ever manage to shake. Jeongin had appeared in them again. That hasn’t happened for a while.

"Hey," he hears from behind him, and he whirls to see Jeongin standing in the shadow of the café, smiling nervously. "I guess we were both early. I got a table round the back and then realised that maybe you wouldn’t see me so I came to stand out here and… here you are." His smile falters at the corners, but remains.

"Here I am," Chan tells him. The words are a little distant, his focus lost in the way he really does have to look up at Jeongin now, the way his features have just… settled, over the years. He’s handsome these days, strong and sharp and just…  _ more _ than he was.

Chan doesn’t know how to process it.

"Shall we…?" Jeongin says slowly, and Chan snaps out of his thoughts.

"Yeah," he says. "Let’s get coffee."

They sit in the little courtyard behind the coffee shop, the sun shining down on both of them, and for a while, neither of them speak. Eventually, Jeongin reaches out, brushing his fingertips against Chan’s cheek, and Chan jolts a little in his seat.

"Sorry," Jeongin says awkwardly, pulling his hand back. "I was just… you look different. Well, you look the same, but…"

"Yeah," Chan agrees with a slight laugh. "I was thinking the same. You used to look… softer."

"Lost the puppy fat," Jeongin remarks, and smiles a little shyly.

"You did," Chan says, watching the way the sunlight catches on every angle of Jeongin’s features and shines in his eyes. "You look great."

Jeongin’s smile deepens, and Chan can’t help but smile in return. "Thanks. Honestly, I’m still caught up on the fact that I’m this much taller than you."

"Honestly? I feel the same." Chan ignores the flash of a nightmare that comes with their words; Jeongin, so small and so pale and so cold, the mud swallowing him whole no matter how fast Chan digs with his hands, no matter how deep he pushes his arms into the dirt, until he feels the rough, splintered wood of a coffin beneath his fingertips-

"Hey, are you ok?" Jeongin asks, fingertips brushing the back of Chan’s hand, and Chan jolts out of the memory of mud and spectral rain.

"Yeah," he says, voice smaller than he’d like. "Sorry. Did you say something?"

Jeongin settles back into his seat, some hint of concern still lingering his eyes. He doesn’t withdraw his hand, Chan notices, the warmth of his skin still there against his own. Chan understands that. They always used to find comfort in holding each other close, and while this new distance prevents that, they can at least find some small warmth in contact.

"I just said that I probably would have teased you about it if we’d been able to see each other while I was growing," Jeongin says, and Chan manages to find a smile at the thought of it.

"You probably would," he agrees weakly. "And I would have been too fond of you to get annoyed."

Jeongin laughs, and Chan feels a wave of old pain at the fact that he saw that laugh so rarely back when they knew each other as children. He had always tried to draw it out, with silly stories and jokes and anything he could think of. But some days, Jeongin had been quiet and sad and scared, and almost nothing Chan did would work.

"You look sad," Jeongin tells him quietly. "What’s wrong?"

Chan watches his fingers twitch, trailing over the veins on the back of Chan’s hand. "I just wanted to tell you that I’m sorry," he says. "I should have done a better job of looking after you. You were too young to be there, and I- I should have taken better care of you back then."

For a long moment, Jeongin just looks at him. A cloud drifts over the sun, dimming the intensity of the daylight and highlighting every little detail of Jeongin’s skin; he has a small scar on his cheek, Chan sees, and he wonders if it’s a relic from childhood or wartime. He can’t remember ever seeing a cut there, but the memories are so very blurred in places.

"So were you," Jeongin says.

"What?"

"You were too young to be there, too," Jeongin tells him patiently. "I know you were older, but that doesn’t change the fact that you were still basically a child. And those years would have been so much worse for me if you hadn’t been there, Chan. That’s all that matters."

He smiles, soft as sunlight, and Chan thinks for a moment that Jeongin’s words might move him to tears. "Thanks," he manages to say, and he takes a sip of his coffee to disguise the shine of his eyes. He’s known, of course, from the moment he’d realised Jeongin’s a Guardian, that he’d be kind; but this is more than he expected, somehow. This gentleness, this patience… Chan’s as proud to see it as he is hurt that he missed watching Jeongin grow into it. It makes him feel a little lost, somehow, like the distance between them might have grown too great.

"Do you…" he begins. "Do you think we would have stayed friends? If- If I’d found one of your letters, or if we’d never lost each other, I mean."

"I hope so," Jeongin says after a moment. "I think we would. I don’t… I don’t think you go through that much with someone and then just… drift away from them."

"I hope not," Chan whispers, and Jeongin squeezes his fingers gently.

"I know what we should do," Jeongin tells him, eyes sparkling. "We should make a list of things that we think we would have done together if we’d grown up on the same street. Things kids or teenagers do together."

"To make up for what we missed?" Chan asks, and Jeongin nods.

"Exactly! We can grow up all over again."

"I like that idea," Chan says, and Jeongin’s smile brightens. Chan doesn’t think he ever wants to look away from it.

They wander the streets with the last of their coffee, heading to the home; Jeongin’s needed to oversee some repairs in the kitchen in the afternoon, he says apologetically, since he’s the one who knows the most about electronics.

"Felix’s boyfriend is great at taking things apart," he tells Chan, "but sometimes he forgets how to put them back together again."

"That does sound like a problem," Chan agrees, and Jeongin laughs, bumping his arm into Chan’s shoulder.

"You can sit in if you want," he suggests, seeming a little shy. "I might be kind of distracted, but…"

_ But I want you there, _ Chan hears.  _ But I’m not ready to let go of you yet today. _

"Sure," Chan agrees. "I’m pretty good at fixing things, after all. Maybe I can help."

"Yeah," Jeongin says with another soft, bright smile. "Maybe you can."

* * *

Felix’s boyfriend is already in the kitchen when they arrive back at the home, seated on the floor in front of the dishwasher. Felix is standing beside him, hip resting against the counter with folded arms as the two of them talk.  They both glance up at the sound of the door, Felix breaking into a smile at the sight of Jeongin and Chan. His boyfriend’s expression is one of gentle curiosity, and Chan gives him a nod.

"This is Changbin," Jeongin tells him. "Pretty much just our repair guy at this point."

Changbin laughs; it’s a pleasant sound, and Chan decides that he likes him already. "Nah, you’d pay me if that were the case."

"I pay you in kisses," Felix tells him with a smile, and Changbin shakes his head gently, looking down at his work to avoid meeting anyone’s eyes as his ears turn just a little red. "Hey, Chan. How are you?"

"I’m pretty good," Chan tells him. "What’s gone wrong?"

"Oh, the dishwasher isn’t heating," Felix tells him. "Changbin’s on the case, but it’s a tough one."

"Want me to have a look?" Chan offers. "I’m ok at fixing things."

Changbin shrugs, shuffling out the way. "It’s not an issue with the element, I don’t think. I’m a little stumped."

Chan sits beside him, looking around inside. Changbin’s done a fairly comprehensive job of dismantling the inner workings of the dishwasher, and Chan pokes around a little until he thinks he finds the problem.

"I think it might be the pressure switch," he mutters. "But it’ll need to come right out. Where’s your screwdriver?"  Felix laughs, and Chan glances up in surprise as Changbin reaches into the dishwasher and simply pulls out the necessary parts.  "How did you-?"

"I break things," Changbin tells him. "Well, I make them fall apart. It used to be a nightmare but I’ve pretty much got a handle on it now."

"Seems useful," Chan remarks, and Changbin nods, but his expression is a little sad, and Felix reaches down to brush his fingers through his hair.

"Can you fix the pressure switch?" he asks, apparently trying to divert the conversation away from Changbin, and Chan does his best to help.

"I think we might need a new one," he admits, "but I’m not entirely sure where you’d go. I don’t tend to do small repairs."

"I can pick one up somewhere," Changbin offers, taking the part from Chan. "I know a few places."

"Can you?" Felix asks, obviously grateful. "You’d be a lifesaver."

"Yeah, no problem." Changbin stands up, pressing a quick kiss to Felix’s cheek before stepping towards the door. "I won’t be long, ok?"

He leaves quickly, and Chan feels a little worm of guilt shift in his chest. "Did I… did I say something wrong?" he asks.

Felix sighs. "Don’t worry about it. He’s just still a little iffy about his powers. Even if he believes that they’re a good thing  _ now _ , there’s still a lot of… old guilt."

"I get that," Chan says softly, and he feels Jeongin take his hand, pulling him to his feet.

"Come on," he says, swinging Chan’s hand a little. "I’ll make you a cup of tea and we can chat some more."

They talk with Felix for a little while, the topic shifting from the difficulties of home repair to an enthusiastic rendition of the plot of a cartoon when Ruva joins them, tapping Jeongin’s knee until he pulls her up onto his lap. He seems to be a favourite of hers, Chan notices, and he understands why. Jeongin just has a  _ way _ with the younger children; he’s engaging, and interested, and makes them laugh. Even now, as the afternoon creeps up and it becomes obvious that Jeongin is desperately in need of sleep, he maintains the energy needed to make Ruva feel included in the conversation between the adults. It’s nice to watch, and Chan feels more than a little proud of him.

_ You grew up so well, _ he thinks, and Jeongin turns to him with a smile as though he could hear it.

Changbin returns soon after, waving the part in the air so that the other can see it. "Got it," he announces, and they cheer slightly, Ruva joining in even though she’s obviously not entirely sure what they’re cheering for.

Chan helps him put the dishwasher back together, taking the opportunity to speak to him quietly as Felix and Jeongin play some kind of game with Ruva and Maisie, who clattered down the stairs a few moments ago.

"I’m sorry," he says. "About earlier. If I upset you, I didn’t mean to."

Changbin shakes his head. "It’s ok. I’m just… still adjusting to a lot of this, you know? Bad associations with my powers, and then Felix comes along and… somehow manages to make me feel good about them. It’s weird. Takes some getting used to, no matter how long it’s been."

"It’s a good thing, though?"

"Yeah," Changbin agrees quietly. "It’s a good thing. I’m guessing you’re in a similar boat if these guys have taken you under their wing. They’ll help you. Really."

"That’s not the only reason I’m here," Chan admits.

Changbin turns to him in pointed silence, eyebrows slightly raised. "Jeongin?" he asks eventually. "He’s pretty cute, I guess, in a kind of… pointy way."

Chan blinks at him. "No," he says. "No. Well- not  _ no _ in that he’s not good looking, but- he is, these days, I mean, but that’s not- we knew each other. During the war. It’s not-"

"Changbin," Jeongin calls. "What are you doing to my friend? I can see the shade of his ears from here, it’s like Ruva got to him."

"Nothing," Changbin promises, laughing at little as Chan continues to stutter. "Absolutely nothing."

"If you say so," Jeongin mutters, and Felix’s answering laughter is as bright as sunlight.

Chan leaves not long after; Jeongin is yawning, blinking away tiredness from his eyes, and Chan suggests that he take a nap.

"Yeah," Jeongin agrees a little hesitantly. "If I can."

"Do you…" Chan pauses, unsure whether or not to ask. "Do you get nightmares too?"

After a long moment of silence, Jeongin nods. "Yeah," he admits. "They’re- they used to be worse. But they’re still bad." He smiles, crooked and shaken, and Chan just wants to hold him. It would be too much, he thinks, to suggest that they curl up together like they used to, wrap up in each other’s arms to try and keep the horrors at bay. "It’s ok, though," Jeongin continues. "Normally if Oak puts me to sleep in the morning I’m awake by the afternoon, and then I can be on night light duty all night." He wiggles his fingers comically, and a little ball of light coalesces in his palm, pulled from the air around it. "It works out."

"I guess it does," Chan says as he takes a reluctant step towards the door. "I’ll let you get some rest, but… we can do this again, right? I know you’re busy with the kids, and obviously I have work too, but…"

_ But I think now that I’ve seen you I can’t live with losing you again. _

"Definitely," Jeongin confirms, and Chan’s heart soars. "Call me. Or I’ll call you. One of us should call the other." He sighs, passing a hand over his face, and for a moment he looks far, far older than his years. "I’m really tired. Sorry."

"It’s ok. Just go get some sleep, yeah?"

"There you go," Jeongin says with a tired smile. "Looking after me again." He steps closer, pulling Chan into a hug in the doorway. The height difference means that Chan’s face ends up pushed against his neck, Jeongin’s cheek against his temple. "Don’t forget what I said, ok? About finding things we should do together. Stuff we would have done as kids."

"Yeah," Chan murmurs, settling into the warmth of Jeongin’s embrace a little. "I’ll text you some ideas."

"Nice." Jeongin sighs. "I’m going to let go now before I fall asleep standing up and keep you here all afternoon."

Chan laughs. "Ok. Make sure you at least get to the sofa."

"I will," Jeongin promises, and he leans on the doorframe as Chan leaves, waving until he’s out of sight. Even when he’s gone, Chan thinks he can still feel some kind of warmth through his shirt, as though he and Jeongin are still holding each other. As though they’re back, all those years ago, curled in the same bunk bed and speaking in whispers.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes on this chapter:   
> 1\. Maisie is slightly based off one of the Brownies in my old pack; I have never before or since met a child with such presence. Every conversation with her felt like talking to a teacher. She was a sweetheart, though.
> 
> 2\. Yes, eating ice cream when it's cold makes you feel warmer. I promise.
> 
> Next update Tuesday! Thank you for reading <3

Over the next few days, Chan panics a little. He racks his brains, trying desperately to think of things that he and Jeongin could do together; what did he do with his childhood friends before the war? The memories are distant, blurred by the sound of bombs and gunfire and the smell of blood soaked into the dirt, and when he tries to reach them, he just feels sick.

He ends up asking Seungmin and Hyunjin for advice. He sits in their flat, watching Seungmin absentmindedly stroke Hyunjin’s hair while Hyunjin digs around in the drawer of the little table by the sofa in search of biscuits.

"So," he says once he’s found them, offering one out to Chan. "You said you wanted to ask us something?"

"Yeah," Chan admits softly. "It might be a little odd, but… I think you could help." He explains the situation as vaguely as he can; he’s reconnecting with someone he knew as a kid, and they’ve decided to try to relive their childhoods together. He sees Seungmin and Hyunjin glance at each other when he mentions that they met when he was young, and he wonders if they suspect that this is to do with the war in some way.

"So, I just need… advice, I guess. On what I should ask him to do. Because I want to keep seeing him, I- I really,  _ really _ want to. But I don’t even remember what I did with my friends as a kid. And I thought… maybe you guys would have some ideas for me."

"Huh," Seungmin says thoughtfully. "What  _ did  _ we do as kids?"

"We just sort of… hung out a lot," Hyunjin replies. "Bought sweets if we could get them, and sat in the street. We wanted to go to the park but I wasn’t really allowed out of the sight of my Guardians in case something happened. You were only a kid, I don’t think they trusted you not to run off and leave me by myself."

Chan’s expression must betray some kind of disappointment or anxiety caused by their answer, because Seungmin gets to his feet with a sigh, disappearing for a moment into their bedroom. "Give me a mo," he calls out to them. "I have something that might help."

Chan throws Hyunjin a questioning glance, and he only shrugs in reply, seeming just as curious about this as Chan is.  Seungmin emerges a moment later, holding a battered little notebook; it’s swollen with ink, the covers refusing to lie properly flat against the weight of the words inside.  _ Diary, _ it says on the front.  _ Do Not Read!!!! _

"Oh my god," Hyunjin says, voice bright with delight. "How old is this?"

"This starts when I’m about ten," Seungmin admits, and Hyunjin’s eyes light up. "Most of it’s about you."

"Of course it is," Hyunjin says. "We were each other’s whole lives back then."

Chan looks away for a moment as Seungmin’s expression grows soft; he’s never sure what to do when he’s present for moments like these, when Hyunjin and Seungmin disappear into their own world. It’s not like he minds them, or finds them unpleasant, he just… never quite knows what to do with himself.

Luckily, Seungmin seems to notice. "Come on," he says, patting Hyunjin’s knee once before leaning away slightly. "This pretty much documents everything we ever did  _ before _ we started dating."

"Are you going to read it to us?" Hyunjin asks, and Seungmin laughs.

"Nah. Just sort through for important details. Let’s see what we find."

The three of them spend the next few hours trailing through Seungmin’s memories, Chan steadily making a list of things he and Hyunjin did together; playing games in the street, or in Hyunjin’s room on rainy days, reading book series together, taking trips to the cinema with Hyunjin’s Guardians.

"Most of it was just sort of sitting around," Seungmin admits as they read.

"Well, I didn’t want to talk to you  _ all  _ the time," Hyunjin points out. "I wanted you there, but I liked being quiet."

"Oh, is that why you cuddle me so much? Because you know it makes me shut up?"

"No, I cuddle you because you’re warm," Hyunjin corrects him, throwing a leg over his knees, and Seungmin laughs as he tries to push it off.

"Thanks, guys," Chan says, and Seungmin turns to him, smiling hopefully.

"I know it’s probably not the most helpful advice, but… we’ve given you one or two ideas, right?"

"Yeah," Chan agrees. "You have. I mean it."

Hyunjin reaches over, taking his hand for a moment. "I hope you can enjoy spending time with him. It seems important to you."

"It is," Chan says softly. "It really is." He manages a smile. "I’ll get going. But thank you, again."

"No problem," Seungmin says. "Let us know if you need anything else, yeah?"

"I will," Chan tells him, and they wave goodbye at the door.

Alone in his flat, Chan stares at his phone, his text thread with Jeongin shining in shades of blue and grey. They’d messaged a few times during the day, little details of what they’re up to, and Chan had felt more relaxed with every word that passed between them. Maybe this isn’t going anywhere. Maybe Jeongin genuinely is a part of his life again.

_ Hey _ _,_ he types after thinking for a while.  _ Want to get ice cream tomorrow? _

Jeongin replies instantly.  _ I’d love to :) _

It doesn’t take them long to arrange the details, and Chan texts Seungmin a quick thank you for the advice. It was a good idea, he decides, asking him and Hyunjin for help. They spent their whole childhoods together, after all.

Hopefully, he and Jeongin can start making up for all the time they lost in theirs.

* * *

Meeting for ice cream is a little less awkward than coffee was; Chan insists on paying, and Jeongin smiles as he takes his cone, piled high with cherry ripple and chocolate sauce.

"Want some?" he offers as they head out of the shop and towards the park, the sun beginning to burn through the cloud. It’s going to be a nice day, Chan thinks, blue skies forecast as the summer fades into the fiery beginnings of autumn.

"Ok," Chan agrees, and leans towards the cone Jeongin offers out; he doesn’t know how either of them expected it to work while they were both walking, really, and Jeongin predictably stumbles slightly over a hole in the road, the cone shifting and smudging against Chan’s nose and upper lip.

"Sorry!" Jeongin cries out, stopping in the middle of the road so that Chan can wipe his face. "There’s- on your nose, there’s-" he laughs a little, and the light in his eyes sets Chan laughing too as he lets Jeongin pull a wipe from his pocket and clean the chocolate sauce from his nose.

"You’re such a dad," Chan jokes. "Carrying wet wipes around."

"Well, it’s a good thing I am, isn’t it?" Jeongin points out. "Otherwise I wouldn’t be able to fix this mess." He folds the wipe, tucking it into his pocket again until they can find a bin. "Do you still want some ice cream?"

"Go on. Let’s just swap cones this time."

"Good plan."

Jeongin’s ice cream is lighter than Chan’s, the flavour of vanilla and cherry delicate compared to the four different variations on chocolate in his own.

"I guess you grew out of your proper sweet tooth, huh?" he asks as they keep wandering through the streets towards the park, both of them careful to avoid any more potholes.

Jeongin laughs. "Trust me. when you make as many elaborately decorated birthday cakes as I do, you just learn to  _ hate _ really sugary food."

"Eight birthdays a year is a lot," Chan agrees.

"Five," Jeongin admits. "The Guardians kind of pretend that birthdays are something we don’t do. Save money and make the kids’ a bit more special, you know? The older kids know, obviously, but they keep it quiet."

That seems a little sad to Chan, but he understands. "I’ll take you out for ice cream again on your birthday," he promises, and Jeongin raises his eyebrows.

"My birthday is in February. Too cold for ice cream."

"Well, you see," Chan counters, keeping his tone as level as possible. "The ice cream makes your mouth cold, and then the rest of you feels warmer. As a father, I’m surprised you don’t know that."

"Oh, absolutely common knowledge," Jeongin says, fighting back a smile. His resolve breaks when his eyes meet Chan’s, and Chan watches dimples form in his cheeks as he grins. It softens all his features, that smile, and Chan has to take a moment to process just how similar he looks to the way he does in his memories. He wonders if Jeongin feels that too, sometimes. If Jeongin looks at him and sees the teenager he was, all tired eyes and frustration. If he sees the war in Chan’s eyes.

He asks.

"Sort of," Jeongin replies as they find a space to sit on the grass, almost shoulder to shoulder despite the almost empty park. "But mostly I just see hope. I see that you made it through."

"It feels like I didn’t, sometimes," Chan admits softly, looking down at the grass. "Like it never ended."

"I know," Jeongin says. "I feel the same. Like I’ll wake up and all of this-" he gestures around at the grass, the sky, the city buildings around them. "-will be gone."

"Yeah."

For a moment, neither of them speak, processing the weight of it. It’s something Chan’s thought a lot about over the years; that none of this feels real, sometimes; that he’ll open his eyes and be a child again, Jeongin curled close to him, just waking up from a dream of something better. He never knows how to cope with it. It’s even more surreal now that Jeongin is here, features just the same but set in such a different face; Chan can almost convince himself that he’s made it up, pieced it together from fragments of memories as a way to hold onto the friend he lost.

Suddenly needing the contact, he reaches for Jeongin’s hand, and is grateful when he links their fingers together. "This isn’t going anywhere, though," Jeongin says quietly. "We’re here. We made it."

"Yeah," Chan agrees. "We did."

He does his best not to think about the others who didn’t. The others he sent out onto the battlefield, still bleeding and still broken despite their lack of pain. On their way to die.

"I think it might be about to rain," Jeongin says loudly, pulling him from his thoughts. "Shall we go home?"

Chan glances up at the sky, where nothing but the faintest wisps of cloud scull lazily across the blue. He looks at Jeongin in confusion, about to protest, only to be knocked into silence by the gentleness in Jeongin’s eyes.  _ I can tell that this conversation is hurting you _ , it says.  _ So let’s move away from it. Let’s go somewhere else and talk about other things. _

He’s grown into someone so kind. So good, so in tune to what other people need to feel safe.

Chan sort of wants to cry.

"Yeah," he agrees, after a moment. "We don’t want to get caught in the rain."

"Come on then," Jeongin says, pulling him to his feet. "Let’s go."

They head back to the Home, finishing off their ice cream as they go. Jeongin lets go of Chan’s hand as they walk, but he stays close enough that their knuckles brush, and Chan is grateful for it.

Crossing the threshold into the kitchen, they’re immediately greeted by a chorus of voices, crying out Jeongin’s name and asking if he brought back ice cream.

"Sorry, guys," Jeongin replies, waving to Minho where he sits at the head of the table. "I’ll put it on the shopping list as a treat, yeah? What are we all up to?"

"Drawing," Maisie says, not looking up from her work. Chan holds back a laugh. He’s never met a child who carries themselves with quite so much gravity as Maisie does.

Minho slides some paper across the table. "I think you two should join in. You’re tapping into your childhood, right? What better tool than crayons?"

"The pen is mightier than the sword," Jeongin agrees, and he waves a shade of bright blue at Chan. "How about it? You don’t have to."

"Nah," Chan says, taking the crayon from him. "Let’s have a go." He feels a little awkward about it, if he’s honest, unsure of how to let himself have fun like this. But Jeongin makes it easier. His smile, the way he knows when Chan needs him to take his hand as if they’ve never been apart; he just makes everything easier.

"Nice," Jeongin says, sliding another box of crayons over to him with a grin. "I bet my drawing’s going to be better than yours."

"Probably," Chan agrees, and Minho laughs. Chan’s heart seems to lift a little as he does so, and he picks up a crayon, ready to do his best.

Jeongin finishes his drawing first, and he leans over while Chan finishes his, resting his chin on his shoulder. "Hi," he says, and Chan holds back a laugh, hand shaking a little.

"Stop it," he says sternly. "I’m trying to concentrate."

"I know."

"Minho, make him stop."

Minho snorts. "You’re actually worse than the kids, you know that?" He smiles, and Chan feels it echo in him somehow, like a candle lit in his chest. Felix mentioned that Minho had an ability, he remembers, and he wonders if it’s related to the way Minho always makes him feel.

Jeongin speaks before he can ask. "I’ll get you a juicebox. Complete the experience."

Chan adds the last details to his drawing while Jeongin rifles around in a cupboard, apparently sorting through the packets for the best flavours. "There," he says as Jeongin places a box of apple juice down next to him, piercing the lid of his own. "Done."

He holds it up. It’s supposed to be him and Jeongin, holding ice cream in the park. It’s not very good, but he finds that he doesn’t mind.

"Is that me?" Jeongin asks. "You drew me shorter than you."

"Yeah, because I really don’t like the fact that you’re not."

Jeongin laughs around the straw of his juicebox. "You’re going to have to accept it sometime."

"Nope. As far as I’m concerned, you’re still tiny."

"Well,  _ I  _ drew us at our proper heights," Jeongin tells him, and he lifts up his drawing to show Chan. It’s much more obviously them than in Chan’s drawing, their features a little clearer than Chan could manage with the crayons. Jeongin is taller, holding what appears to be an orb of light in one hand; his other is linked with Chan’s, and he’s written  _ best friends _ above their heads.

"Ok," Chan admits after a long sip of his juice. "That’s much better than mine."

"What, because I’m taller?"

"Because you got the colour of my shirt right."

"Well, I think they’re both worthy of going on the fridge," Minho tells them. "Come on, pass them here."

Chan watches, laughing, as Minho carefully attaches their drawings to the fridge with little alphabet magnets.

"I’m proud of us," Jeongin says. "I’ve never had any art go on the fridge before."

"Because you’re the parent," Chan points out, and Jeongin shushes him.

"Not right now I’m not."

"I’m going to have to ask you to be later, though," Minho tells him. "I’m out for dinner with Jisung, so you’re on cooking duty."

"Ok. Enjoy your date."

"It’s not like that," Minho scolds, and Jeongin turns to Chan, leaning in conspiratorially.

_ It is, _ he mouths dramatically, and Chan snorts juice out of his nose.

"You could stay for dinner," Jeongin offers as the two of them clear the table of crayons and paper. He seems a little shy about it, not meeting Chan’s eyes as he speaks, and Chan thinks that maybe he isn’t the only one who doesn’t quite know how to proceed.

"Yeah," he agrees. "If you’ve room, I’d really like that."

And Jeongin smiles, soft in the afternoon light, and even though Minho is gone, Chan feels that same candlelight warmth in his chest.

* * *

Dinner is nicer than Chan expects; it’s not that he thought it would be awkward, just that he’s forgotten what family dinners are like. It’s loud, and Felix has to convince Arin that carrots really aren’t that bad, and Oak and Sasha ignore their younger siblings to join in with the adults’ conversation. Chan finds himself smiling a lot, and every time he looks across the table, Jeongin is smiling too. Once or twice, their eyes meet, and Chan thinks he’d happily stay here forever.

It ends, though, after clearing of plates and after hands brushing in soapy water, and Jeongin leans on the doorframe as he steps down onto the street.

"Thanks," Chan says, the glow of the kitchen just brushing his skin. "For today."

Jeongin smiles. "Well, you were the one who paid for ice cream," he points out.

"Yeah, I guess I was." Chan hovers there, not quite willing to leave yet, and Jeongin does the same. It’s something Chan is growing used to, this need they both have to be close to each other, but he still doesn’t quite know what to do about it every time they have to part.

"Do you want to… maybe hang out again in a few days?" Jeongin asks. "I have an idea of what we could do if the weather stays good."

"That sounds great," Chan agrees. "I’ve got a run of shifts over the next three days, but… text me?"

"I will. Let me know when you get home, ok?"

Chan nods in agreement, and a little aura of light follows him down the street as he goes, right until he rounds the corner and disappears from Jeongin’s line of sight.

* * *

Seungmin and Hyunjin are sitting on the stairs when he gets home, sharing a packet of biscuits. They appear to only have one left, and Hyunjin is attempting to break a tiny piece off the bigger half so that they both get the same amount.

"Hi, guys," Chan says slowly. "What are you doing?"

"Waiting for you," Seungmin admits. "Hyunjin convinced me."

"I want to know how your day with Jeongin went!" Hyunjin cries as he pats the stairs next to them, and Chan sits down with a fond shake of his head. "Sorry, we ate all the biscuits."

"No problem. I just had dinner anyway."

"Did you hang out at the home?" Seungmin asks.

"In the afternoon. We got ice cream in the morning and sat in the park. It was… nice. It was really nice."

Hyunjin smiles, bumping Chan’s shoulder with his own. "I’m glad! Are you going to hang out again?"

"Yeah, in a few days."

Seungmin smiles. "You’re finding it easy to get on with him, aren’t you?"

"Yeah," Chan agrees softly. "It’s not- I wouldn’t say it’s like nothing’s changed. We’re both… we’re not the same. He’s grown up so much, it’s…" he laughs. "He’s so much taller than me now. He used to be so tiny… but I find him easy to talk to. Even if we’re not talking about memories we both have, it just… clicks."

"I’m glad," Seungmin says. "I know you don’t like to talk about your past much, but I’m glad you’ve found someone you can do that with."

He’s right, Chan realises; he knows endless little details of Hyunjin and Seungmin’s lives before he met them, but they know only the barest scraps of his; he just doesn’t find most of it pleasant to talk about.

But with Jeongin, he doesn’t mind. He feels safe.

"Thanks for the advice about hanging out with him," he says once he realises his silence has stretched on a little too long.

"No problem," Hyunjin says, wrapping an arm briefly around Chan’s shoulders. "Ask us anytime."

Chan smiles across at both of them, squeezing Hyunjin’s hand where it rests on his shoulder. "Thanks. You guys are good friends."

"We do try," Seungmin jokes as he gets to his feet, offering Hyunjin a hand up. "We’ll see you around, Chan."

"Yeah. Come round mine and we’ll get takeout sometime."

"Sounds like a plan. We’ll hold you to it."

Chan watches the two of them descend the stairs to their flat, Hyunjin casually slipping his hand into Seungmin’s back pocket to find their key. He’s heard them joke a few times that they were destined for each other; that even if Hyunjin hadn’t ended up in the home, they would have met somewhere, somehow. Are he and Jeongin like that? Has the universe given them a second chance at their friendship after the first attempt pulled them apart?

Chan hopes so. He likes the idea of destiny when it comes to things like that.

But destiny or not, he’ll see Jeongin again. Jeongin seems just as committed to getting to know each other again as he does, and he thinks they’re going to end up with something good.

With a sigh, he gets to his feet, heading up to his flat on the floor above. He’s got work for the next few days, shifting stone and rubble and taking down wire. Making space for someone to build something new.

And then he’ll see Jeongin again.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some MinSung, and the very faint beginnings of something more than friendship.
> 
> Next update Thursday <3

Work over the next few days is calmer than usual; his team is building something, rather than their usual careful demolition, and Chan spends more time laying bricks than throwing them into skips. It’s nice. It’s perhaps a little sentimental of him, to link the idea of rebuilding back to Jeongin, but he finds he can’t help it, thoughts trailing from the repetitive work to the way he’d smiled over the dinner table.

Despite the lower intensity of the work, Chan’s still aching by the time his three shifts are over. Jeongin messages him saying that he doesn’t  _ have _ to come over, that he can rest, but Chan doesn’t want to ignore the itch under his skin he has to see Jeongin again. He wonders vaguely if it’ll ever get less intense, if he and Jeongin will slowly become routine in one another’s lives. He hopes so.

So he heads over, only slightly limping, the sunlight warming his skin. Jeongin had implied that whatever he’d wanted to do was outdoors, so Chan is glad that the rain’s held off. It would have been a shame if they’d been forced to reschedule.

Jeongin is apparently ready for him outside; he’s sitting on the steps to the home, sunning himself like a cat, and Chan slows his pace just so that he can watch him for a moment. He looks at peace, features unmarred by worry, and for a golden, sunlit moment Chan can believe that he’s shining.

But Chan’s footsteps disturb him eventually, and he opens his eyes with a smile.  "Hi," he says, waving a handful of something at Chan. "You ok?"

"Just a little stiff," Chan admits as Jeongin rises from the stairs to wrap him up in a hug, "but I’ll be fine."

Jeongin laughs a little nervously. "We’ll see, I guess. Come on, sit down for a minute while I get set up."

"Set up?"

"You’ll know what I mean when you see it."

Chan watches curiously as Jeongin hops down the steps; he’s holding chalk, Chan realises, in various shades, and as Chan sits in the sun he begins to draw out squares. It isn’t until he gets to the third, positioning it between the others like the point of a triangle, that he thinks he understands.

"Hopscotch?" he calls, and Jeongin nods, beaming.

"If your old bones can take it," he shouts, and Chan mock-glares at him.

"I’m twenty-six, not sixty-two."

"If you say so," Jeongin sing-songs, and not for the first time Chan is struck by just how young he is. The gap between them seems smaller than it had before, the gaping chasm between eleven and fifteen closed somewhat by the passing of adolescence, but Jeongin is still  _ young _ . Twenty-two, and he’s lived through a war and become a foster father to children who are barely four years younger than  _ him _ . The younger children most likely don’t notice it, Chan thinks as he watches Jeongin draw up the last few squares, but Sasha and Oak must be aware that their Guardians were children themselves not too long ago. Not that Jeongin carries himself like anything less than a fully-grown adult most of the time; more so than Chan, really. A side effect of having to grow up fast, he supposes. Chan hopes that doing childish things with him is helping with that, to a degree.

"There!" he calls from the street. "We’re ready."

Chan gets to his feet, ignoring the twinge in his shoulders as he pulls himself up and heads down the stairs. "Don’t we need a stone?" he asks, and Jeongin nods.

"We can just use the chalk. We’ve got like, seven boxes in a cupboard somewhere."

"Nice."

Jeongin throws first, landing on the number five, and Chan can’t help but smile as he watches him jump across the numbers like a child, long legs a little awkward; settling on one leg on the number five, he hops as he turns to face Chan, almost losing his balance, and Chan fails to hold in his laughter.

"Hey," Jeongin calls, but he’s laughing too, wobbling slightly and flailing his arms to steady himself. "Hey, do better than me and then you’re allowed to laugh."

"Ok, ok," Chan agrees as he picks up a piece of blue chalk. "Let’s see."

He throws further than Jeongin, landing on seven, and does his best to jump his way there despite the ache in his knees. He almost falls once, and he catches Jeongin reaching out as though to support him.

"I’m ok," he promises. "Just achy knees."

Jeongin throws him a smile. "Old man."

"Shut up."

They play a few more rounds, managing fairly well until they both end up landing on the same square and collapse into laughter at their own attempts to squash onto it together; Jeongin ends up falling into the road, and Chan reaches out for his hand only to get tugged down with him, kneeling beside Jeongin on the warm tarmac as they laugh. Chan catches sight of Minho watching them from the window, wearing an expression of slightly fond exasperation; he waves, expecting Minho to come out and say hello, but he simply disappears from view.

"Is he ok?" Chan asks Jeongin, wiping his chalk-dusted hand on his shoulder. Jeongin grimaces at the mark on his t-shirt, but doesn’t retaliate.

"Yeah, he’s just… his powers are bothering him a little bit at the moment. I don’t think he really wants to be around anyone who isn’t family," Jeongin explains. "We’ve talked about it a bit, but… he’s just worried." He offers Chan a slight smile. "We haven’t really talked much about your powers, actually. Do you still…?"

Chan shakes his head. "No," he says heavily. "Bad memories, it… it doesn’t feel good to use them."

"That’s fair enough," Jeongin says kindly, and Chan feels a hand slip into his. The contact grounds him a little, as Jeongin always seems to, and Chan leans back on his elbows, letting the setting sun warm him.

"This was fun," he says, and Jeongin breaks into a smile.

"Aches not too bad?" he asks teasingly.

"Ah, nothing a hot bath won’t fix."

"I’ll let you go, then," Jeongin says, squeezing his hand briefly. "I have to wash the chalk off my shirt, too, since  _ someone _ decided to leave a handprint on me."

"The crime of the century," Chan jokes. "We’ll have to lock up the criminal forever."

Jeongin throws his head back and laughs at that, squeezing Chan’s hand again before getting up and pulling him to his feet as he always does. " You know," he says. "You’re always welcome here. Even if we haven’t planned anything. The kids like you, and so do Minho and Felix. And I think Oak still wants to chat to you about some stuff."

"Oh, yeah," Chan says, remembering vaguely that conversation with Minho. "I’d be happy to talk to them. Powers are weird."

"So… do you want to come again sometime soon? You can stay for dinner again if you play your cards right."

"I’d love to," Chan agrees, and he thinks he sees Jeongin relax a little, as though he’d been afraid that Chan would say no. It’s not just him, then, who’s afraid of losing this. "Does Wednesday work?"

Jeongin nods. "I think so. I’ll text you if anything comes up."

"Nice." Chan stretches, wincing as his shoulders pop and Jeongin reaches out to poke his stomach. "Hey!"

"Just checking that you’re not about to crumble into ancient dust," Jeongin teases, and Chan shakes his head as he laughs.

"I’m leaving. You’re being mean and I’m leaving." He makes to turn away, but Jeongin pulls him into a hug before he can, holding him tight.

"See you," he murmurs, and Chan pats his back, hoping that he’s smearing more chalk dust there.

As always, the two of them hold on for a beat longer than they perhaps should; Chan doesn’t think he’s ever going to get used to the feeling of Jeongin in his arms again, especially with all that’s changed. But it’s just nice to hold him, and remind himself that all of this is real.

"Bye, Jeongin," he mumbles into his shoulder, and Jeongin lets him go, pushing him gently towards the end of the road.

And when Chan reaches the corner, he turns, and sees Jeongin still there, watching him in the last of the sunlight; he waves goodbye, and rounds the corner towards home.

* * *

On Chan’s second day of work after his meeting with Jeongin - after which he’d had the longest, bubbliest bath he’s had in a while - he sees something unexpected.

He’s working on clearing again today; a good deal of the areas that weren’t directly bombed are still scattered with rubble that’s too large to easily clear, and a professional building team have taken over the project they were working on last week so that they can get back to their usual work. The street they’re working on today has mostly been repaired, and people go about their business as usual, occasionally stopping to wave hello.

There’s a café at the end of the street, a favourite of his, and Chan is eyeing it up with the idea of getting a coffee when he sees Minho walk out. He goes to wave hello, but pauses as someone follows him; it’s a stranger, small and apparently a little nervous, although that might be a side effect how wide his eyes are, and the slight pout of his mouth. Chan watches as he steps close to Minho, close enough that Chan thinks he might lean up and press a kiss to his cheek. But Minho turns to the side with a twitch, and the stranger moves away, looking somewhat disappointed. He makes a few gestures with his hands that Chan eventually realises are sign language, and then waves, crossing the street and walking away. Minho waves back, but the stranger isn’t looking his way, and Chan sees Minho’s shoulders drop just a little.

Intending to pretend he wasn’t watching, Chan begins to turn away; but Minho turns down the street, catching Chan’s eye, and he waves. Offering him a smile, Chan jogs over to say hello properly.

"Hi, Chan," Minho says. He sounds a little sad, Chan thinks, but like he’s hiding it, trying to gloss over it with false brightness. "Working today?"

"Yeah, I’m just on a break. Thought I’d get coffee."

"Oh, let me buy you one," Minho offers. "Got to support the rebuild of our city, after all." He smiles, and it doesn’t quite reach his eyes, but Chan accepts anyway.

They sit across from each other in the coffee shop, Chan feeling a little guilty about the volume of brick dust he’s leaving on the seats. Minho sips his coffee, apparently not quite up to continuing the conversation, but Chan still feels the little spark of joy and warmth he always feels in Minho’s presence.

He’s about to ask about it when Minho speaks, finally placing his coffee cup down on the rough wood of the table. "Can I ask you something?" he says, and glances up apologetically. "I know we don’t know each other very well, but…"

"Go for it," Chan says, a little surprised, and Minho gives a heavy sigh.

"How much…" he begins slowly. "How much do you think your power defined you? Back when you used it."

"I don’t… I never really thought about it," Chan admits. But memories resurface even as he says it; the other children at the camp, back when it was kind, running to him with every scrape and bruise; his mother when he returned home, asking if he’d ease the pain in her shoulder where she’d been wounded by falling stone. She’d seemed disappointed, although understanding, when he’d refused, and the moment echoes strangely in his head. "I think… maybe more than I ever realised," he says eventually. "You?"

For a moment, Minho says nothing, and Chan wonders if he’s been a little too direct. But Minho just sips his coffee, and stares down into it before looking up into Chan’s eyes. "How do you feel right now?" Minho asks him slowly, gaze steady, and Chan takes a moment to think about it.

"Happy," he replies eventually. "Safe."

"That’s me," Minho tells him quietly, dropping his gaze again. "That’s how I make people feel." He doesn’t seem happy about it, and Chan does his best to keep his bewilderment out of his expression; Minho apparently struggles to talk about this, and the last thing Chan wants to do is discourage him.

"Isn’t that a good thing?" he asks Minho slowly.

"Not when I want people to think clearly," Minho says with a wry smile. "Not when I want people to feel something real." He looks up again, eyes shining a little. "Sorry. I really don’t know you that well, this is- this is probably a lot for you."

"Don’t worry about it," Chan tells him. "I don’t mind talking." He pauses. "Is this about Jisung?"

Minho’s smile softens into something rather more defeated. "How much did Jeongin tell you?" he asks.

"Nothing, really. Just that you were saying there was nothing there when Jeongin thought there was."

"I don’t… I don’t  _ know  _ if there is," Minho admits. "There is on my end. I like him. I  _ really _ like him. And he says he likes me, but…"

"But you don’t know whether it’s just related to your power," Chan realises out loud, and Minho nods, refusing to meet his eyes.

"I think I just make him feel good," he whispers. "And he says it’s more than that but I just- I don’t  _ know _ , and I wish I did."

Chan sits there, steam still rising drowsily from his coffee, somewhat lost for words. He isn’t entirely sure how to deal with this, doesn’t know how to handle the emotions of someone he barely knows. So, he simply blurts out the first thing that comes into his head.

"I’m not in love with you," he says, and Minho blinks at him a few times in surprise.

"What?" he asks.

"I don’t have feelings for you because of your power," Chan explains, feeling himself begin to blush a little. "I mean- I think you’re a nice guy, and you’re- you’re honestly really handsome, and as a general rule I’m attracted to guys, but- I don’t have a crush on you."

He watches Minho’s expression of rather blank surprise shift slowly into a frown. "What are you saying?"

"I’m saying," Chan tells him more slowly, "that if people developed feelings for you because of your powers, a lot more people would be in love with you."

For a moment, Minho just looks at him. Chan thinks he can see cogs turning in his brain. "Oh," he says eventually. "That… oh."

"If Jisung says he likes you, I think you should trust him," Chan continues. "You probably wouldn’t have developed feelings for him unless there’d been some chemistry there, right?"

"I guess not," Minho murmurs, staring at a spot on the wall beside Chan’s head. "I- thanks."

"Sorry if that was just- really,  _ really _ forward," Chan says quickly. "I just- it seemed like you needed to hear it, and-"

"No, I- I think you’re right, I think that was what I needed," Minho tells him, and he breaks into the first genuine smile Chan has seen from him that day. "Thanks, Chan. I can see why Jeongin likes you so much."

"He- does he talk about me?" Chan asks without thinking, and then wishes he could take back the words as Minho laughs gently.

"Yeah," he confirms. "He does. A lot, actually. You’re making him happy."

"I’m glad," Chan murmurs, and he can’t quite place why the idea makes him feel so shy.

"I should really be getting back," Minho tells him. "But thanks. For the advice and for sharing coffee with me."

"Any time."

Chan watches him go, vanishing out into the sunlit street. He thinks of the expression on Jisung’s face when Minho had leaned away from him, the way Minho had watched him go. There’s obviously the potential for more than friendship there, from an outside perspective. Chan thinks they could make each other happy.

Minho had said exactly the same of him and Jeongin, he realises; that Chan is making him happy. That isn’t the same, though, Chan feels the urge to tell the last vestiges of Minho’s presence; that’s a world apart from the way Jisung and Minho had looked at each other. Perhaps the softness of it is the same, but… it’s different. He and Jeongin have known each other for a long time, after all.

Draining the last of his coffee, Chan sighs, and gets to his feet. There’s still work to be done out there, and thinking about other things won’t change that. Giving a wave and a thank you to the barista, he ducks through the doorway, and out into the light.

* * *

Wednesday rolls around slower than Chan would like; Tuesday seems to drag, members of his team joking that really, he should get a new watch if he doubts his enough to check it every five minutes.

"I’m waiting for something," he tells them, and they roll their eyes fondly, slapping him on the back before they get back to work.

He isn’t exactly sure what time he should head over to the home; Jeongin had said that any time was fine, but Chan doesn’t want to intrude. He decides on mid afternoon in the end, thinking that it’ll leave enough time before dinner for the two of them to talk for a while. Sending Jeongin a quick text, he changes into clothes free of stone-dust and sets off, taking shortcuts across abandoned land to avoid areas where the street surface is still too broken up to walk over.

He checks his phone with a frown as he approaches the home; there’s been no reply from Jeongin; no evidence that he’s even read the message. Chan knocks on the door anyway. He’s probably just cleaning, or dealing with a tantrum, and if Chan has to sit around for a while, he doesn’t mind.

It’s Felix who opens the door. He smiles when he sees Chan, glancing back towards the living room.

"Hey!" he says brightly. "You’re here for dinner, right?"

"Yeah," Chan confirms. "Jeongin kind of just told me to show up whenever?"

Felix laughs. "That may have backfired a little bit. He’s actually asleep."

"Oh!" Chan says, stepping down from the doorstep as though to walk away. "Should I- do you want me to come back later?"

"No, no, come in." Felix waves him indoors, the door clicking shut behind them. "He didn’t get any sleep at all last night, and he pushed through this morning, but then just… straight out around lunch time." He smiles apologetically. "Is it ok if I just sort of leave you with him? I need to run out and get some ingredients, and Minho’s on homework duty with Sasha, so…"

"No, that’s… that’s fine," Chan agrees, and Felix looks grateful.

"Thanks. Today’s been a busy one." He steps past Chan towards the living room door, opening it just enough for both of them to slip inside without the light falling on Jeongin’s face. Chan can just make out the silhouette of him, long legs stretched out over the sofa, chest rising and falling slowly in the dim light.

"Yeah, he’s still asleep," Felix whispers. "You ok to just sit with him?"

"If you think he’ll be ok with it," Chan replies softly.

Felix squeezes his shoulder. "He won’t mind, trust me. I’ll call you when dinner’s ready, ok?"

"Ok."

The door closes behind him, and Chan is left alone with Jeongin in the dark. As he adjusts, he can hear the rhythm of Jeongin’s breathing, slow and even, and the sound calms him more than he’d thought possible; it brings back memories, the two of them curled together in one narrow bed, back when Jeongin was still small enough to fit in his arms. Chan doesn’t even think he could try, now; not with the way he seems a little uncomfortable on the sofa, shoulders slightly too broad, legs slightly too long.

Chan settles down on the floor, his back leaned against the end of the sofa where Jeongin’s feet rest. Despite fearing that it would be awkward, he finds he’s actually more than happy just to sit there for a while, listening to Jeongin breathe, and he wonders how aware Felix is of that; how much he knows of the comfort Chan finds in Jeongin’s presence.

Eyes adjusting to the lack of light, Chan lets his gaze settle on what he can see of Jeongin’s face. The angles of him are blurry in the dark, but Chan can see the line of his jaw, head turned slightly to one side in his sleep. He follows it up, tracing the faint contours of Jeongin’s cheekbones to the curve of his nose; they’re so sharp these days, as though he’s been cut and carved away, time whittling down the softness of his features. Chan wishes he’d seen what Jeongin looked like at the age of sixteen, some halfway house between the child he knew and the adult who lies asleep on the sofa. He wishes they hadn’t lost so much time.

Jeongin stirs, letting out a slight murmur in his sleep, and Chan quickly looks away as though his gaze had been somehow responsible for waking him. For a moment, he hears nothing more, and he wonders if Jeongin has simply settled back into sleep. He finds he’s a little afraid to look, just in case he moves again.

But after a minute or so, he hears another little murmur, and a sigh, and the shift of the sofa cushions as Jeongin moves. Chan thinks he hears him sit up, and then stop.

"Chan?" Jeongin says quietly. His voice is low and rough from sleep, and it sets off a twinge of something strange in Chan’s chest. A wistfulness, almost. A longing.

"Hi," he replies in a whisper. "Felix said I could just… sit here until you woke up."

"What time is it?"

Chan checks his phone, tilting the screen away as Jeongin lets out a slightly pained sound at the brightness of it. "Almost four," he says.

"Nice. Didn’t miss dinner. That happens sometimes."

"Did you get Oak to help you sleep?" Chan asks, and Jeongin shakes his head.

"No, I just… drifted off by myself. I was pretty tired." He smiles crookedly through the dark. "No nightmares, though. I think they’ve been better since you’ve been around."

Chan turns away, suddenly glad of the lack of light in the room. He thinks he might be blushing. "I’m glad," he says, and Jeongin laughs, the sound of it still a little scratchy in his throat.

"Let’s get some light," he mutters. "Then we can talk properly."

Chan watches as the room steadily fills with luminescence, banishing the shadows to the corners and the space beneath the television stand. It’s been a while since Chan saw him do this, and he’d forgotten the way the summoned light tends to dance in Jeongin’s eyes. They’re a little swollen at the moment, dark circles still settled beneath them, but they’re lovely all the same.

"There we go," he says, offering Chan a soft smile. "Come sit on the sofa." He swings his legs down, patting the space next to him, and Chan climbs up, leaning into the cushions as Jeongin settles back down with a sigh, knees knocking against his own. "Were you waiting long?"

"Nah. Only a few minutes. It was kind of nice, though." He pauses, struggling to say what he wants to without sounding insane. "I sort of… I missed being around you when you’re asleep?"

Jeongin laughs, but it’s not mocking. "Yeah, I get what you mean," he agrees. "It felt so weird when we’d only just come back home and I had to sleep by myself. I was so used to having you there."

"Yeah, exactly," Chan agrees, glad that Jeongin doesn’t think him strange. "So it’s… nice. No matter how weird that sounds."

Jeongin leans over, resting his head on Chan’s shoulder. "We should have a sleepover sometime. Add that to our list of ‘childhood things’ to do."

"We should," Chan agrees as he hesitantly lays his cheek against Jeongin’s hair. It’s soft, and he can feel the warmth of his breath against his collarbones, and he feels more grounded than he has in a long time. "What do kids actually do at sleepovers, though? I feel like you know better than I do."

"Eat too much sugar. Watch movies. Talk about stuff."

"What kind of stuff?"

Jeongin laughs softly, a huff of air against Chan’s skin. "School, or friendship drama, or boys. Or girls. Whichever floats their boat." He shifts, looking up at Chan with a sudden curiosity. "Which is it for you? If- if you don’t mind me asking. Just feels like something we should have gotten to know about each other when we were teenagers."

"Boys," Chan replies. "I had kind of a crush on one of the other guys at the camp before he got sent home because his powers weren’t anything they could use." He shakes off the thought, the way it drags him back down into memories he doesn’t want to touch in a moment so soft as this one. "You?"

"Both. Either. Anything in between." Jeongin shrugs, and settles back against Chan’s side. "Never really found a preference."

"That’s fair enough," Chan says, and he almost thinks he can feel Jeongin smile.

They sit there, talking aimlessly, until Minho calls them for dinner. He sighs when he sees that Jeongin is using his powers to light up the room, flicking on the light switch.  "We have electricity, Jeongin. You don’t need to tire yourself out."

"I didn’t want to walk to the switch," Jeongin admits, and Chan laughs as Minho rolls his eyes.

Chan, it turns out, isn’t the only guest for dinner; the stranger Chan had assumed to be Jisung is hovering in the kitchen, looking a little lost as Felix places a bowl in his hands to be put down on the table. He smiles when Minho walks back in, and Chan sees Minho’s whole demeanour soften somewhat. They sit across from each other at the table, rather than side by side as he expects, but the reason becomes apparent when Jisung begins to sign in response to the conversation, and Minho translates for those who don’t understand.

"Jisung’s abilities are linked to his voice," Jeongin explains in a murmur, close to Chan’s ear. "They manifested pretty late, and until he gets a handle on it, he’s sticking to sign language. All the Guardians know it, so it’s less of an issue here than elsewhere."

Chan nods, watching the bright, animated way Jisung makes gestures, facial expression just as quick and expressive. He seems like the kind of person who has a lot to say, a lot of ways to make people laugh, and Chan wonders what it must be like for someone like that to have to learn a whole new way of communicating halfway through their life. At least Jisung seems to be adjusting. At least he has Minho.

"You know," Jeongin tells him as Chan helps clear away the plates, "I think I have an idea of what we should do for our next childhood experience."

"Oh yeah?"

"We should go to the cinema!" Jeongin announces. "I haven’t been in so long."

"No," Chan replies slowly. "Because the cinema collapsed and they haven’t rebuilt it."

"I know," Jeongin says. "But I have a way around that." His smile is bright, and a little mischievous, and Chan can’t help but reach over and poke his sides until he laughs.

"Tell me what you’re planning," he orders, and Jeongin just shakes his head, eyes shining as he laughs and tries to fight Chan off without success.

"Stop," he gasps out. "I’m holding a plate!"

Chan lets him put it down on the counter before resuming his attack until neither of them can really breathe, Jeongin leaning back on the counter and Chan settled against him, laughing as he rests his forehead on Jeongin’s shoulder.

"You’re a hazard," Jeongin tells him, but it’s fond, and when Chan looks up, he’s smiling.

"I wouldn’t be if you’d tell me how you’re going to arrange a cinema trip," he points out, and Jeongin just shakes his head resolutely.

"I want to keep it a secret," he says, and he wraps an arm briefly around Chan’s waist in an embrace before pulling it away to wave at someone in the doorway. It’s Minho, Chan realises as he follows Jeongin’s gaze, looking at the two of them with some mixture of gentleness and exasperation that Chan can’t quite decipher.

"Arin is absolutely, one hundred percent, completely convinced that there is a shadow monster outside his window, and would like you to make it go away," he tells Jeongin, and Chan feels Jeongin laugh softly.

"Ok," he says. "I’ll get rid of it." He looks down at Chan. "I’ll text you?"

"Soon, please," Chan says. "I need to know what you’re planning."

"Good luck with that," Minho calls from the stairs. "When Jeongin keeps secrets, he really holds them close to his chest."

"Shut up, Minho," Jeongin calls fondly, and Chan hears Minho laugh. "See you, Chan. Thanks for coming today."

"Thanks for having me," Chan replies, and Jeongin pulls him in for another short hug. Chan doesn’t particularly want him to let go, enjoying the warmth and the scent of fabric softener from his well-worn t-shirt, but Jeongin has to go, heading towards the stairs with one final smile and a shout of ‘I’m coming, Arin!’.

Chan slips out the front door, seeing the burst of light from one of the windows on the upper floor, and hearing a faint cheer from Minho and Jeongin as they apparently manage to vanquish the monster. Arin is in good hands with Guardians like those. Even if it’s not his ability, Jeongin has a similar way to Minho of just making people feel… safe. Looked after.

Maybe that’s just Chan, but he doesn’t think so. Jeongin just seems good like that.

A light in the darkness, still shining after all these years.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A more emotional chapter to mark the halfway point! Apologies for doing this much later in the day than usual, I just was not in the mood this morning. Warning for descriptions of past violence for this one <3

Chan keeps asking Jeongin about his cinema idea.

"I’ve got things to plan," Jeongin tells him, Chan accompanying the children and their Guardians on a walk to collect the leaves that are just beginning to fall. "You’ll find out eventually."

"Oh, come  _ on _ _,"_ Chan complains, swinging their joined hands. Jeongin had linked their fingers together almost as soon as they’d met up, and Chan doesn’t mind. It’s nice. His hands are warm. "I could just ask one of the other Guardians."

"They won’t tell you. I mean it."

"Damn it."

Jeongin squeezes his hand. "Don’t say that around Arin, he’ll pick it up."

"Sorry."

"Want to make it up to me?" Jeongin asks, and Chan raises an eyebrow at him.

"...Sure?"

"Push me on the swing, then!" He sets off at a run, Chan stumbling over his feet as he struggles to catch up, and Felix laughs and laughs and laughs at the sight of Jeongin, knees raised high to avoid his feet brushing the ground as he swings. Chan’s heart flutters at the sight of him, too, with some heady mixture of joy and something he can’t name. He takes his hand again when they walk, and he can’t tell if it appeases the feeling or intensifies it.

* * *

Two days later, Chan finally has a chance to talk to Oak. Minho seems grateful to him for doing it, and Chan wonders just how much Minho’s been exerting his power to keep Oak stable.

"Are we bad people?" they ask him softly. They’re sitting on their bed, knees pulled up to their chest, and Chan is on the floor with his back to the bookshelf.

"Why would we be bad people?"

"Because we didn’t do enough. Because we couldn’t really help."

Chan doesn’t have to ask what he means. This keeps him up at night sometimes. The idea that he was in a position of healing, and everyone he helped just ended up back out on the front lines, wasting the extra minutes he’d managed to give them.

"No," he says. "We’re not bad people. We just…" he pauses. "It’s easy to say that we didn’t have a choice, but you know that we did. You know that we could have tried not to do what they said."

"Yeah," Oak agrees quietly, and Chan can feel the weight of guilt and sorrow and fear behind the word.

"Let me show you something, though." Chan shuffles closer to Oak, tapping the scar on his temple so that they can see it. It’s small, barely noticeable these days, but he remembers just how much it had bled at the time. "I got this the one time I refused to use my power on someone." He pauses, unsure of how to proceed when he finds this so very hard to say. "They… they brought Jeongin to me," he tells them. "He’d been shot."

"I’ve seen the scar," Oak admits. "On his shoulder. Felix burned breakfast once and Jeongin had to run out and wave a tea towel at the smoke detector before he’d put a shirt on."

The image makes Chan laugh despite the gravity of the conversation, and Oak smiles just a little, too.

"He was so small back then," Chan continues. "Barely bigger than Maisie. You wouldn’t believe it with how tall he is now, but…" he trails off, the image of Jeongin, pale and small and soaked in red flickering behind his eyelids. "They wanted to send him back out. They wanted me to make it stop hurting so that he could go back out again, and I…"

"You said no?"

"Yeah," Chan agrees heavily. "I lied. I said I was exhausted, I couldn’t use my powers. They tried to convince me. Jeongin’s power was… useful to them out there. They didn’t want him held back because he was in too much pain to fight. But I wouldn’t help him." He closes his eyes for a moment. He hates this memory. Hates how much he had just wanted to  _ help _ , had wanted to hold Jeongin close and take away the pain and make it all stop so that they could just hold each other in their bunk again. "They took him away. And one of them hit me; he had something in his hand, or he was wearing a ring, I don’t… I don’t remember which. It cut me, and I just sat there, bleeding, while they took Jeongin away."

"I’m- I’m sorry," Oak says, and Chan does his best to muster a smile.

"My point is," he says, voice shaking a little despite his best efforts. "That you most likely would have been hurt if you’d tried to resist."

"Shouldn’t I have tried anyway?"

"No. You were a child, Oak. You couldn’t be expected to fight back against adults who had no qualms about hurting you. And think of all the people you helped; people suffered horrible injuries during that war, Oak. You know that. To be free from pain for a while, to have a dreamless sleep… it must have been a blessing for them."

"Do you mean that?" they ask softly, and Chan feels his heart ache at the idea that someone so young should be so full of guilt over something that was never their fault.

"I do. I know what those medical tents were like, Oak. I was there, too. I kind of wish you’d been there with me. It might have made things easier if we’d been able to work together."

Oak offers him a tiny smile. "Thanks, Chan."

"No problem. If you ever want to talk about it again, just ask Jeongin to ask me."

"It bothers you, though," Oak says slowly. "To talk about it. I can tell."

Chan doesn’t reply for a moment, trying to formulate what to say. "I didn’t have a place like this," he murmurs eventually. "I came out of the war and everyone just tried to help me forget about it rather than helping me process. Some days… some days it just feels like it’s all waiting to pull me back." He shakes away the thought. "Seeing Jeongin all grown up helps, though. Reminds me that time has passed. That I’m not there anymore."

"Is that why you’ve been around so much?"

Chan laughs. "Sorry, I keep interrupting all your family time. I just… I feel safer if I know he’s around."

"He’s happier when you’re around, too," Oak tells him thoughtfully. "He laughs more." They seem serious, eyes searching Chan’s, and Chan isn’t entirely sure what to say.

"I’m glad," is what he settles on in the end.

He finds himself just a little more aware of Jeongin’s smile later; of the way Jeongin tends to reach for him when he laughs, to pull him close; of the way his gaze and his touch always lingers when Chan has to leave.

He blames Oak for that, and does his best not to dwell on it too much.

* * *

Things continue like that for a little while; Jeongin and Chan see each other once every few days, either at little coffee shops or at the home. They talk about the past, and the present; Jeongin quizzes Chan on his taste in films, and Chan gently asks about his nightmares. They’re always tactile, always needing to be close. Chan will pull Jeongin’s head onto his shoulder, turning so that his nose rests against the softness of his hair, and Jeongin will take Chan’s hand, or trace his fingers gently over his bare forearm. It tickles, but Chan doesn’t mind.

One particular thing from his conversation with Oak plays on his mind, though.

"How well did it heal?" he asks softly as they sit in the living room, examining the Guardian’s DVD collection. "The bullet wound."  For a long moment, Jeongin says nothing, fingertips trailing down over the spine of a DVD. " I’m sorry if you don’t want to talk about it," Chan continues hurriedly. "I just- Oak mentioned that there was a scar, and I-"

"It’s ok," Jeongin says, taking his hand. "Come on." He gets to his feet, leading Chan out of the living room. Felix is in the kitchen, and he looks as though he might be about to ask Jeongin to do something until he sees the expression on his face, and lets them pass up the stairs.

Chan hasn’t been in the room Jeongin leads him to, but he guesses fairly quickly that it’s the room he and Minho share; mostly, Guardians tend to have separate rooms, but Felix jokes that when they took Arin on, the all forgot that he would eventually grow up and need his own room. So Jeongin had given his up, and started to share. "I barely sleep in it anyway," he’d pointed out to Chan. "So Minho mostly gets it to himself."

He doesn’t get much time to process the room, Minho’s books strewn over the desk, Jeongin’s sketches pinned to the wall, before Jeongin shuts the door and begins to pull his jumper up over his head. Chan stands there blankly, unable to stop his gaze fixing on Jeongin’s back; he’s paler there than on his arms or his face, the slight press of his spine against the skin bringing out the silver of the stretch marks that run horizontally across the small of his back. They emphasise how slender his waist is compared to his shoulders, and Chan isn’t entirely sure why he notices that with such clarity.

And then he sees the scar, and stops thinking about anything else.

It’s bigger than he thought it would be, but as Jeongin turns around he realises that it’s larger on his back than on the front of his shoulder. Chan knows that makes sense, having seen plenty of times the way the exit wound makes the entrance look like nothing, but it still makes him feel sick.

"Are you ok?" Jeongin asks. "You’ve gone sort of pale."

"I need to sit down," Chan whispers, and Jeongin takes hold of his forearms and guides him to sit on one of the beds.

"I’m sorry," he says. "I’m really sorry, I should have just told you about it rather than-"

"No, no, it’s…" Chan closes his eyes, patting Jeongin’s hand where it still rests on his arm. "It’s ok. I’ll look properly in a minute, I just… I need a moment."  Jeongin sits in silence with him for a little while; Chan feels a hand on his back, moving gently up and down, and he manages to align his breathing with Jeongin’s rhythm until he’s calmer.  "Ok," he says, more to himself than Jeongin, and he opens his eyes.

The scar is settled in the dip of Jeongin’s shoulder, just below the very edge of his collarbone. It’s not quite round, the shape of it just a little irregular, and Chan thinks that it seems almost insignificant on the expanse of Jeongin’s shoulder. So small it could barely do a thing.

But Chan knows that isn’t right. He remembers how much it bled, after all. How Jeongin hadn’t been able to stay conscious through the pain.

He lifts his hand. "Can I…?"

"Sure," Jeongin says quietly, and Chan brushes his fingertips as softly as he can against the scar. The sensation of it is odd, as scar tissue often is, and Jeongin pulls a face.

Chan quickly pulls his hand away. "Does that hurt?"

"Not… not really? It just feels weird. Not painful, though."

"Good."

"I sound like an old man, but it really does ache when it rains," Jeongin jokes weakly, and Chan manages to offer him a smile.

He finds it harder to look at the exit wound when Jeongin shifts around on the bed so that he can see it; the surface is rougher, the edges more jagged, and it seems to make Jeongin more uncomfortable when Chan touches it, no matter how gentle he tries to be. He finds that he  _ wants _ to touch it, somehow. Wants to show the patch of broken skin and torn muscle and splintered bone some kindness.  For a fraction of a second, he thinks he wants to press a kiss there, but the feeling is a strange, aching one, and he shakes it off. He just wants to hold Jeongin like he used to, curled around him to keep him safe, cheek pressed to his shoulder. That’s all it is.

"Come on," Jeongin says eventually. There’s a tremor in his tone, the strain of old wounds and new vulnerabilities, and Chan thinks he understands. "We still need to pick a movie."

"Yeah," Chan agrees. "You had some good ones. We should make a shortlist."

"Agreed."

He watches as Jeongin pulls his jumper back over his head, worming his arms into the sleeves and pulling it down over his stomach. They head back downstairs, and return to the DVD cabinet.  For a little while, they sit in silence and in stillness, neither of them moving to select a film.

"Thank you," Chan says. "For showing me that it healed."  _ For showing me that we’re a long way from where we were. For reminding me that you’re safe, even if I couldn’t protect you back then. _

"That’s ok," Jeongin replies softly. "I’ve never really shown it to anyone else. Not like that."

There’s that ache in his tone again, the vulnerability that makes Chan think he’s opening up his ribs to let him see inside. He does that more and more often these days, and Chan wishes he knew how to reciprocate it. To share himself with Jeongin the way Jeongin has shared with him.

"Thank you," he says again, and Jeongin smiles.

* * *

Seungmin catches Chan in the corridor entirely by accident. "Hey," he says, apparently a little surprised to see him. "You’re actually at home for once."

Chan frowns. "I’m home plenty."

"You’re kind of not, though," Seungmin argues, but his expression is kind, so Chan doesn’t particularly mind. "You’ve been out with Jeongin, right?"

"Yeah," Chan admits. "I have."

"Having fun?"

"Yeah."

"Good." Seungmin’s tone is thoughtful, and Chan raises his eyebrows as his friend appears to search his expression.

"What?" Chan asks eventually, and Seungmin shakes his head.

"Nothing. It just isn’t like you to be out and doing things so often. Jeongin must really be special to you."

"You know he is," Chan says, and then pauses. "Well. I guess you kind of don’t. I never told you much about him."

"No," Seungmin agrees. "You didn’t." His gaze flickers towards his and Hyunjin’s door. "Come in for coffee and talk about it?"

Chan considers it for a moment. He really hasn’t told his friends much about Jeongin, either in his past or his present, glossing over the bare minimum of the story when he’d asked for their advice. He thinks of Oak, so open and so willing to talk about their fears and their past. He thinks of Jeongin, showing him the bullet scars on his shoulder.

"Yeah," he agrees. "Coffee sounds good."

"Chan!" Hyunjin cries when he walks in. "I was starting to forget we had a neighbour."

"Come  _ on _ _,"_ Chan complains. "I’ve been around! I’ve been sleeping here!"

Behind him, Seungmin must make some kind of face, because Hyunjin nearly chokes on the biscuit he’s eating, and Chan has to slap him on the back several times until he can breathe again.

"I saved your boyfriend’s life!" he calls into the kitchen where Seungmin’s setting the coffee machine running. "You owe me!"

"I offer said boyfriend as payment," Seungmin says dryly. "You can keep him."

"Hey!" Hyunjin croaks, and Seungmin leans over the sofa to kiss the top of his head before he hands Chan his coffee.

"So," Seungmin asks. "Jeongin."

"Jeongin," Chan repeats quietly, and Hyunjin looks up quizzically.

"Did something happen?" he asks, and Chan shrugs.

"Not really, I just… I guess I realised that I never actually told you guys what happened there. Or what’s happening now, really. And you’re my friends, so…"

Hyunjin smiles, tilting his head to one side a little. "You know you don’t have to tell us, right? Like it’s great if you want to, but we don’t mind having a mysterious, secretive neighbour. It might even raise our property value."

Chan laughs. "Maybe, but I just… I think I should maybe tell you guys things? I don’t know. Maybe it’s dumb, but…" he pauses. "I feel like I’m maybe not that great at connecting with people after… after the war, and I think I need to learn how again." It feels strange even to say it. Vulnerable, and open, and like he’s offered them both a piece of his heart. Chan isn’t entirely sure how he feels about it.

Hyunjin leans over and takes his hand. "Ok then," he says. "Tell us about Jeongin."

And Chan does. Piece by piece, he tells them about back when they first met, when he was young and small and afraid; the nights curled up to keep each other safe, some last semblance of their childhood innocence found in each other; when he thought he was going to lose him, Jeongin bleeding out into the mud. He tells them about the end of the war, and the way he’d grieved for Jeongin as though he’d seen him buried, and the way he’s drifted ever since, trying and failing to forget. He tells them about the way Jeongin is now, tall and strong and a force of such  _ goodness _ that Chan doesn’t know how to cope with how proud he is. He doesn’t tell them about the scar, and the way Jeongin had flinched when he touched it. Some things seem a little too private.

Hyunjin is visibly crying by the time he finishes explaining the reason they’d been trying to do childish things together. Seungmin looks like he might be on the verge of tears too, but he wipes quickly at his eyes before they spill over.

"So, yeah," Chan mumbles. "That’s… that’s it."

"That’s kind of a lot," Seungmin replies carefully. "Have you just been… holding that in? For eight years?"

Chan thinks about it for a moment. "Yeah," he admits. "I think so. Didn’t really want to tell anyone."

The absurdity of that hits him then. He never told his parents about Jeongin. He hasn’t told anyone he’s ever met about his ability. He’s just… acted like that part of his life never even happened, when it’s been the only thing he’s thought about for almost nine years.

"Oh," he says, and his voice cracks around the word. Hyunjin’s arms are around him almost immediately, coffee cup abandoned, and Chan ends up just crying into his shoulder like a child.

"It’s ok," Hyunjin murmurs, rubbing his back. "It’s ok. You’ve got him back now. You’re safe. You’re ok."

And if anything, that makes the tears  _ worse _ _._ Because every time people have told Chan that it’s over, he’s safe, it’s felt like they’re not being honest with him. Like he’s still just a teenager, and they’re telling him lies so that he’ll feel better.

But he has Jeongin, now. He has Jeongin and the city is rebuilding itself piece by piece and he hasn’t heard a bomb outside of his nightmares in eight years and he’s truly, genuinely  _ safe . _

"Do you want to stay here tonight?" Seungmin asks him. "I mean- I know you’re not far anyway, but you’re welcome to stay with us if you need someone here."

"No, it’s- it’s ok," Chan manages to say. "I’ll be ok."

"As long as you’re sure."

"I am."

"It’s helping, then?" Hyunjin asks softly. "Going to the home? I remember you asked me about it back then but I didn’t-" He stops. Chan knows what he was going to say.  _ But I didn’t know why you needed it back then. I didn’t know the war was carved so deep into your bones. _

"Yeah," Chan agrees. "It’s helping. Not just Jeongin, even, the other Guardians are… they’re just great, and the kids-" he breaks off, thinking of Oak.  _ It bothers you, though. To talk about it. I can tell _ . "The kids are honestly teaching me a lot."

Hyunjin pulls him in for another hug. "I’m glad."

"You deserve to be free of this, Chan," Seungmin says quietly. "I know it must be hard to accept that given… given everything. And I know it’s not really my place to talk about it, as someone who doesn’t even have powers. But you deserve to move on."

"I think I might be starting to," Chan whispers. It’s scary to admit, somehow; as though speaking it will alert the world, will call down disasters to stop him from healing. But it’s true. Things are better now than they have been for a long, long time.

He pulls away from Hyunjin, wiping his eyes. "Sorry. So much crying. Not actually used to this much crying."

Hyunjin laughs, passing him a tissue from the box by the sofa. "It’s ok. We keep these here for when Seungmin inevitably cries at romantic movies."

"Hey," Seungmin complains, and Chan laughs.

He stays for a while longer; he and Hyunjin have memories to share now, of the camps before the military took over, the golden days of their childhoods where they were surrounded by children who were just like them; the joy of showing off their powers like they were nothing more than crickets they’d found in the grass. But eventually, Chan grows tired, the exhaustion of  _ feeling _ quite so much kicking in despite the caffeine, and Seungmin shows him to the door.

"When are you seeing him again?" he asks. Chan doesn’t have to ask who he means.

"I’m not sure," he admits. "He’s planning something, apparently. A cinema trip."

Seungmin frowns. "The cinema got bombed."

"Yeah, that’s what I said. But apparently he’s got something in mind."

Seungmin’s expression softens. "You’re really enjoying hanging out with him, aren’t you?" he says. "For more than just the memories."

Chan falters for a moment. He’s not thought of it that way before. He’s been thinking of Jeongin as  _ Jeongin _ _,_ his Jeongin, the boy he did his best to take care of for so long. But if he thinks on it further, Seungmin is right. They’ve both changed irrevocably since then, but there’s still something that binds them. A shared sense of humour, or interest; less tangible than that, maybe. Just a link. A connection.

"Yeah," he agrees. "I really am."


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did this in a HUGE rush so apologies for any formatting errors <3

Somewhat unexpectedly, Chan ends up spending the next day with Felix and Changbin.

"We want to go round some of the sites that still need little bits demolished," Felix explains over the phone. "And we thought maybe you’d know where they are?"

Chan almost laughs. It’s such a strange thing to ask, but, yes, he does know where those sites are, so it was reasonable to think of him. "Sure," he agrees. "I’ll show you."

So they tour around the city, Felix chatting away happily to them both. Changbin laughs at most of what he says, obviously enamoured, and it’s nice to listen to the two of them bounce off one another.

"You know," Felix tells him happily as they pick up pieces of barbed wire that Changbin’s broken into pieces. "This is what I was doing the day Changbin and I first met."

"Picking up wire?"

Changbin snorts. "He was trying to take it apart by himself. Kept cutting his hands." The smile he gives Felix then is nothing short of ardent, and Chan can almost feel the warmth of it from three feet away.

"But you helped," Felix sing-songs. "And then I never let you get away, because I thought you were handsome."

Changbin turns a little red. "It’s not like I _tried_ to get away," he admits, and then blushes an even deeper shade.

"How long have you two been together?" Chan asks, and Felix sits back on his heels for a moment, counting in his head.

"Four… five years? It wasn’t _right_ after the end of the war, but it’s definitely been a while."

"Four years and ten months," Changbin says under his breath, and Felix grins.

"I knew I could trust you to remember."

"You weren’t a Guardian, then?" Chan asks. He thinks Felix is a year older than Jeongin, and that would have made him barely eighteen five years ago.

"Nope! Only been doing that for three and a half years. I applied pretty much as soon as I turned eighteen, but they make you do a load of training, which is fair. Jeongin actually managed to wheedle it so that he started the training when he was seventeen, so we started at the same time."

"And before that you were just… running around taking down barbed wire?"

Felix laughs. "Pretty much. I wanted to fix the city, you know? Make it look like less of a… well. Less of a warzone. And I roped Changbin into helping."

"It wasn’t like that," Changbin argues gently. "You showed me that I _could_ help. Not sure I could have refused you anything after that." He turns to Chan, offering him a bottle of water that he gratefully accepts. "I left my home city because I thought I’d just be a hindrance to the repair efforts," he explains. "Everyone was rebuilding things, repairing roads, putting things back together and I just… I took them apart without meaning to. But Felix showed me that that didn’t mean I couldn’t help." He smiles almost shyly at Felix, and Chan’s heart warms in his chest. It’s really something, to see two people so in love in a city that’s been through as much as this one has. It feels like watching the sun rise after a winter’s night, the sky around the two of them tinged with gold.

"Were you- I mean, I don’t know how early you discovered your power, but-"

Changbin shakes his head. "I didn’t fight, if that’s what you’re asking. My mother hid me when they came looking for kids like us. I spent pretty much the whole war living in our cellar so that I wasn’t within my power’s range of anything noticeable. I couldn’t control it at first, and guns… guns have a lot of small pieces that want to come apart. Having me anywhere near soldiers was a bad idea."

"I’m sorry," Chan says softly, and Changbin shakes his head.

"I didn’t get the worst of it. And it got me here, so." He looks over at Felix again, who’s still sifting through the dirt for any sharp pieces of wire that they might have missed. "I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else."

"Yeah," Chan agrees quietly as he looks around the street, last night’s rain still shining on the stone. "Me neither."

They get through another five or so sites before the sun begins to dip towards the horizon. It’s obviously a little tiring for Changbin, and Felix loops an arm around his waist as they head back towards the Home, promising him cupcakes when they get home.

"Maisie was baking today, remember?"

"On her own?"

"Nah, Sasha’s supervising. She’s a good baker, we can trust her not to set anything on fire. Not so good at cleaning up afterwards, though…" He glances up. "You coming back with us, Chan?"

"I hadn’t planned to," Chan admits.

"Well, our door’s always open." He grins. "And Jeongin’s always glad to see you." There’s something in his tone that leaves Chan a little uncertain; it’s not as though it sounds like he’s joking, there’s sincerity there, but… there’s something else, too. Some subtext that Chan can’t quite figure out.

"I have work again tomorrow, so I’ll come some other time," he says, although he feels his heart sink a little as he says it. He’d like to see Jeongin again, even if he was at the home only yesterday. His mind offers him a flash of memory, delicate silver lines across Jeongin’s back and the softness of his voice as he led Chan to sit down on the bed, and he feels the odd urge to hide his face from Felix. "I’ll forget how to cook for myself at this rate."

Changbin laughs. "Trust me, that’s a genuine risk. I once ate there every night for a week."

"I’ll let Jeongin know you’ll be around soon," Felix promises. "Thanks for helping out today."

"No worries," Chan says. "It’s good work. Makes my job easier in the long run, too."

"Yeah, I guess it does," Felix agrees. "Happy to help! Come on, Changbin, we need to pick up onions on the way."

Chan waves as they head off to the left, down streets that he’s grown familiar with over the past few weeks. He’ll tread them again soon enough, he’s sure of it. But tonight, he’s heading home, to his own little flat where he needs to call his parents. They need the reassurance that he’s doing well, and he needs the reminder that life goes on outside this endlessly rebuilding city.

But he’ll see Jeongin soon. At this point, that’s almost a surety in his life, as certain as the turn of the earth. The sun will rise. The leaves will fall in the coming autumn. He’ll see Jeongin again.

Chan doesn’t think he’d have it any other way.

He turns around, and heads for home.

* * *

A few days later, Jeongin calls him. They’ve been texting whenever Chan gets breaks from work and Jeongin isn’t busy with the kids, but it’s strangely something of a relief to hear Jeongin’s voice. It makes him calmer and a little jittery all at the same time, like his heart is humming in his chest.

"I’m ready for our cinema trip," Jeongin tells him. "Can you meet me tonight?"

"Ok," Chan agrees. He’s seated on the scaffolding of a building fairly near his own flat, the early autumn air ruffling his hair. "What time?"

"If you set off to mine at sunset you should be ok."

Chan laughs. "A meeting at sunset? This sounds dramatic."

"Oh, it is," Jeongin tells him. "You don’t need to bring anything except yourself, I’ve got everything prepared."

"Even _more_ dramatic," Chan teases, and Jeongin laughs down the phone.

"Just agree, ok?"

"Fine, fine, I’ll be there. Just after sunset."

"Just after sunset," Jeongin confirms, and he hangs up before Chan can talk to him about anything else. Chan shakes his head as he tucks his phone back into his pocket, more fond than exasperated. He’s more than a little excited for whatever Jeongin’s planned; it’s been a few weeks in the making, after all, and Jeongin is obviously excited too. Chan wishes that he could skip the day, raise his hand and pull the sun down towards the horizon so that it’s almost time, but that’s more than a little impossible. So, he gets to his feet, pushing his phone more securely into his pocket, and gets back to work.

* * *

Little by little, the sun begins to arc across the sky. Chan heads home from work, and showers off the dust and the sweat of the day. He spends probably more time styling his hair than necessary, given that it just ends up looking exactly the same as usual: short, and brown, with a slightly unruly curl.

With no exact time to work to, Chan climbs the fire escape to the roof, sitting atop the sun-warmed surface to watch the day fade. It goes slowly, little by little, the glow of the light fading from white to honeyed gold as the sun begins to head towards the horizon. Chan feels it touch his skin, and it’s almost as though he’s lying in the grass in summer, listening to the hum of the evening insects around him. He hasn’t done that in a long time. Hasn’t had enough peace inside his head to just lie still and hear the world. Maybe he does, now. Or maybe he would, if he asked Jeongin to come with him. It’ll have to be next summer now, the city tipping over into autumn, but he can ask when the time comes. It would be something nice to do together.

Eventually, the sun dips low enough for Chan to set off; he’s grateful for it, actually. He’d been on the verge of dropping off to sleep, basking like a cat in the sun, and he needs to wake himself up. He walks a little quicker than necessary through the streets, eager to see what Jeongin has planned, and the faintest tip of the sun is still visible above the line of the horizon. He waits for it to fade before he knocks, and his hand is still raised when Jeongin opens the door.

"Hi," he says, and watches Jeongin break into a smile.

"Hi," he parrots back, and lifts a large bag, and a slightly smaller one, off the kitchen table. "I might have to ask you to carry something."

"No problem," Chan agrees, and he steps into the kitchen, reaching for the larger of the two bags. Jeongin pulls it back with a frown, offering out the smaller one, and Chan shakes his head. "Come on, Jeongin," he says. "I tend to spend my whole day just lifting stone around, I can manage a bag."

"And I spend _my_ entire day lifting children," Jeongin counters, but Chan refuses to budge.

"I’m older than you," he points out. "Let me carry the bigger one."

"I’m younger than you," Jeongin says, leaning forwards a little to tease him. "The larger one might damage your old bones. We saw what hopscotch did to them."

"Hey!" Chan pushes into the kitchen, reaching for the larger bag, and Jeongin laughs, wrapping his arm around Chan’s waist to stop him reaching the table.

"No!" he cries. "I’m trying to be polite! Let me!"

"No."

By the time Minho walks in, leaning on the doorframe and clearing his throat, Jeongin has Chan by the wrists, and they’re sort of grappling with Chan’s back to the edge of the kitchen table; Jeongin’s trying to use his superior height, but Chan is definitely stronger, so it’s not really working in either of their favour. Sheepishly, Jeongin releases him, and Chan uses the momentary advantage to grab the larger bag.

"Get out," Minho tells them fondly, and they both burst into laughter as soon as they’re out the door, the rectangle of light from the doorway vanishing as Minho resolutely locks them out.

"Come on," Jeongin tells Chan happily. "We should get going. We have things to do once we’re there."

"I still don’t know where we’re even going," Chan complains. "You might as well blindfold me at this rate."

"You know what," Jeongin says thoughtfully. "That’s a good idea. Once we’re there, though. If I blindfold you now you’ll trip."

Chan frowns. "You just… carry a blindfold?" Jeongin wiggles his fingers in response, and the light is sucked away from the air around Chan’s head. "Oh," he says as Jeongin lets it flow back. "Right."

There’s a pause as they walk. "Do you…" Chan begins. "Do you ever feel weird about using your powers?"

Jeongin shakes his head. "Not for small things like that. If I ever had to do something big, I don’t… I don’t know if I even could anymore. But I can light up a room. I can make nightlights. Little stuff." Chan can feel Jeongin’s gaze settle on him, and it feels a little like the warmth from earlier, the sun kissing his skin as he lay on the roof. "I know we’ve talked about this before, but… do you think you’d ever use your powers again?"

"No," Chan says softly. "I don’t. I just… they hurt too much."

"That’s ok," Jeongin tells him. "You’re still you without them." He switches his bag to his other hand, and links their fingers together. Chan squeezes his hand, and feels Jeongin return the pressure.

It’s fully dark by the time they reach their destination, but that’s not a problem; Jeongin surrounds the two of them in a gentle bubble of light so that they can pick their way safely across the patch of abandoned land, and he lays down a blanket and some cushions before guiding Chan over to it and surrounding him in a veil of shadow again.

"Wait there," he says.

"You haven’t given me much choice," Chan teases, and he hears Jeongin laugh from over to his left. He listens as Jeongin moves around, muttering to himself slightly as he does whatever he needs to.

"Ok," he says eventually. "I think we’re ready."

The veil of shadow falls from Chan’s eyes, and he almost gasps.

Just in front of him, on a fairly flat stone, Jeongin has set up a little projector, linked to a portable DVD player; the opening screen of the film looms large on the smooth wall of the repaired building next to their empty lot, and Chan just stares at it for a moment before he notices Jeongin looking at him a little anxiously.

"Do you like it?" he asks. "I know it’s not exactly like a cinema, but… it was kind of the best I could do." He smiles hopefully, and for a moment he looks so very young that Chan wants to reach out and hold him.

"It’s wonderful," he says. "It’s- honestly, Jeongin, it’s perfect. I mean it." And Jeongin breaks into a grin so wide and so proud that Chan can do nothing but just look at him for a moment.

 _He’s beautiful_ _,_ he thinks, and something about the idea feels like coming home.

"Come on," Jeongin says, settling down next to him on their pile of cushions and blankets. "Let’s watch. Snacks are by your feet."

Chan struggles to focus on the film. It’s a good one, well-scripted and honestly so suited to his taste that it seems like Jeongin pulled it straight from his head, but Chan can’t quite keep his attention on it. Not when Jeongin is there, shoulder against his own, laughing softly at the jokes in that slightly hoarse way of his, dust motes caught in the luminescence of the projector beam dancing over his features and making them glow. A tense moment has him reaching across to grip Chan’s arm, and Chan is almost overwhelmed by the urge to wrap an arm around his waist, pulling him close for the remainder of the film. The idea makes his heart beat faster in a way that isn’t entirely familiar with Jeongin, and he thinks he feels it stop for a moment when Jeongin looks over at him to see whether he appreciated a particularly funny joke. Chan didn’t really, barely taking notice of the script at this point, but he smiles anyway, watching the sparkle in Jeongin’s eyes as he turns away.

"That was fun!" Jeongin says brightly once the film is over. He makes no move to pack up the projector, instead leaning back on his hands and looking up at the sky. The stars are out, scattering the night, and Chan actually can’t remember the last time he stopped to look at them.

"Yeah," he agrees softly. "That was fun."

Jeongin turns to look at him, eyes bright and gentle, and Chan can’t believe he’s never noticed how lovely they are before. He doesn’t particularly want to stop looking at them.

He doesn’t really know what’s happening.

"We should do this again," Jeongin says, and something about the phrase just makes everything _click_ in Chan’s head. That sounds like something someone would say after a date. This feels like a _date_.

"Yeah," he manages to say as his mind runs through the evening; blindfolding Chan so that everything stayed a surprise; the blankets and pillows arranged so that they could be close; the way Jeongin had stayed right by his side the whole time.

Had Jeongin intended this as a date?

Did Chan _want_ Jeongin to intend this as a date?

Yes, he thinks dizzily as he watches Jeongin watch the sky. Kind, caring, _beautiful_ Jeongin. Jeongin who makes him laugh and settles his anxieties with nothing but a touch. Jeongin, who he’s found again after all this time. The answer to that is almost a definite _yes_.

"We should pack up," Jeongin sighs eventually, getting to his feet and offering Chan a hand up. "Arin will probably wake up when I come in, so I don’t want it to be too late."

"A light sleeper?" Chan asks as Jeongin pulls him to his feet, settling a hand briefly on the small of Chan’s back to make sure he’s stable. The touch is unexpected, and Chan feels the sudden urge to step closer, and just wrap his arms around Jeongin’s ribs. But Jeongin just nods as he steps away, leaning down to pack up the DVD setup; so Chan just sets to folding the blankets, responding as best he can when Jeongin talks about the film.

Their hands brush as always when they walk back towards the home, but it feels a little different now. Like something has shifted, and the touch means something else, as though some filter has been removed from the world. As though Chan is seeing in colour for the first time in a while.

"I’ll see you soon, then," Chan says in the kitchen, once they’ve carried all the bags inside.

"Yeah," Jeongin agrees. "Soon."

He smiles, a dimple forming in one of his cheeks, and Chan can’t quite process the fact that he wants so badly to lean up and kiss it. He steps back before he can, and Jeongin’s eyes go just a little sad as he heads for the door.

"Thank you," Chan says. "For this. It was really nice."

Jeongin ducks his head a little, apparently a little embarrassed. "Goodnight, Chan."

"Goodnight."

* * *

Chan texts Hyunjin as soon as the home is out of sight.

_neighbour chan: hey, are you awake?_

The reply comes through barely moments later.

 _neighbour hyunjin: yeah, seungmin and i stayed up watching a show about birds. you ok?_ _  
_ _neighbour chan: i just need some advice_ _  
_ _neighbour hyunjin: come over, we’ll put the kettle on_

When Chan makes it home, Hyunjin and Seungmin’s door is already open; they’ve propped it there with a stack of books, and he can hear their laughter from inside. He knocks anyway, and Seungmin pokes his head out from their little kitchen with a smile.

"Chan! Come in, we’ll make you a cup of tea."

"Thanks," Chan says as he wanders in, waving to Hyunjin, who’s sitting on the counter.

"So we’re agony aunts again, huh?" he says. "You should buy us food sometime as payment." Seungmin elbows him, and he smiles. "I’m joking, I’m joking. We know you’d do the same for us."

"Yeah," Chan agrees. "But I’ll buy you a pack of biscuits anyway."

"Don’t feed his habit," Seungmin mutters as he hands Chan a mug of tea, and the three of them settle on the sofa. "Whenever you’re ready."

Chan exhales slowly. He’s not entirely sure where to begin with this. It’s so complicated in his head, such a muddle of emotions and memories from what feels like two separate lives with Jeongin that he can’t quite match together. But despite that, it’s so unbelievably simple. He might be falling in love with Jeongin. He thinks he _is_ falling in love with Jeongin.

"Jeongin and I went out tonight," he begins to explain, and Seungmin and Hyunjin listen attentively as he tries to make it make sense; the way Chan’s wanted Jeongin close since the day they found each other again, but it’s different now; the way he’s been marvelling at the changes in Jeongin’s features since he’d first looked up from the little girl with her arms wrapped about his waist, but now he can’t seem to look away; how everything has shifted, just slightly, and it’s like he’s been falling all along but hadn’t noticed until now. His friends wait until he’s finished, tea going cold little by little, and then they are silent for a long moment.

"Oh," Seungmin says, and he looks as though he might be smiling a little. "How are you… how are you feeling about that? The idea that you might have feelings for him, I mean."

"I don’t know," Chan admits quietly. "I think- I don’t know. If I think about it, it just seems… it seems _right_. Like it was meant to happen. And then I think about it again and I can’t make sense of it, because… it’s Jeongin."

"He’s not the Jeongin you knew back then, though," Hyunjin points out gently. "You’re not kids anymore. It’s ok to love him like that, Chan."

Chan hesitates. It’s true that he struggles, sometimes, over whether he should separate the Jeongin from his childhood with the Jeongin he knows now. They don’t feel like the same person, sometimes. But they are. And he loves them both, in different ways. Wants to hold one of them close, and keep him safe, and let the other do the same for him.

"Was it like this for you two?" he asks. "Did it just… creep up on you?"

Seungmin laughs. "Yeah. Trust me, I didn’t even really know that I liked Hyunjin that way until he asked if he could kiss me. And then it just… clicked. Like I’d known all along." He pauses. "Do you… do you think he feels the same?"

"I don’t know," Chan says. He hasn’t really thought about it if he’s honest, too caught up in the idea of being in love with Jeongin to consider whether Jeongin is in love with him. The thought makes his heart flutter so much he thinks it might take flight from his chest, and he does his best to hide his face by taking a long sip of his tea.

"Well, you don’t have to tell him yet," Hyunjin points out. "Take some time to figure out your own feelings better. See if you get any signals from him, you know?"

"Yeah," Seungmin agrees. "You never know what might happen. And you know…" he glances at Hyunjin as though asking him some silent question. "We might have something you could bring him to as a date."

Chan frowns, more than a little confused, as Hyunjin and Seungmin’s smiles both grow wider and wider until they both burst into nervous, joyful laughter. "What?" he asks. "What’s going on?"

Hyunjin looks at Seungmin, who nods, and turns to Chan. "We might be getting married?" he says, and then starts laughing all over again. Seungmin rolls his eyes, and nods at Chan.

"There’s no _might_ about it," he says. "I asked, and he said yes. We don’t have details yet, but… no time like the present, you know?"

For a moment, Chan is speechless. "Guys," he says eventually. "That’s- that’s wonderful, oh my _god!_ You’re getting _married!"_

"We’re getting married," Hyunjin confirms, and it sounds as though he doesn’t quite believe it. He looks impossibly happy, though, and when his gaze falls on Seungmin there’s so much love and wonder there that Chan is almost surprised that this didn’t happen sooner. They’ve been together since they were teenagers, after all.

"Let me know when you have details," Chan tells them. "I’ll be there."

"You’d better be," Seungmin says fondly. "And bring Jeongin. I imagine we’ll be even more desperate to meet him by then."

Chan blinks, a little surprised. "You want to meet him?"

"He makes you so happy, Chan," Hyunjin replies gently. "Of course we want to meet him."

"I’ll… I’ll bring him round sometime," Chan promises, a little tongue-tied by such a gentle gesture of affection. "Before the wedding. We can all have dinner or something."

"Please do," Seungmin says, and then yawns. "But if you’ll excuse us, it’s late, and I have work tomorrow."

"Yeah, sorry, I’ll- I’ll get out of your flat. I’m really here a lot lately."

"Oh, you’re welcome any time," Seungmin says as the three of them stand and make their way to the door. "Kicking you out now is as much for your benefit as it is for us."

Chan laughs, and hovers for a moment in the doorway. "Thanks, though. For the advice. And congratulations."

"Thank you," Hyunjin says, smiling into Seungmin’s neck; he’s sort of draped over his shoulders, chest pressed close against Seungmin’s back, and he looks as comfortable as a cat on a radiator. "We’ll send you an official invitation at some point."

"I look forward to it. Goodnight, guys."

"Night, Chan."

After a short walk up the stairs, Chan unlocks his door and lets it swing shut behind him, collapsing onto his bed.

He might be in love with Jeongin.

He’s not sure; the feeling is still in its infancy, fluttering and bright and like a moth just out of its cocoon; but he might be in love with Jeongin.

Chan presses his palm to chest, almost expecting to feel some tangible warmth there. There’s nothing, but he doesn’t mind. He knows that was a little much to ask for.

His phone buzzes, and he digs it out of his pocket instantly, smiling at the sight of Jeongin’s name on the screen.

 _Jeongin: did you get home safe?  
_ _Chan: yeah, sorry. stopped to chat to some neighbours._ _  
_ _Chan: thanks again for tonight_ _  
_ _Chan: it was really creative_ _  
_ _Chan: i loved it_ _  
_ _Jeongin: yay!_ _  
_ _Jeongin: took a lot of setting up haha_ _  
_ _Chan: i can imagine_ _  
_ _Chan: but it was really cool_ _  
_ _Chan: you did a good job_ _  
_ _Jeongin: i’m glad it made you happy :)_ _  
_ _Jeongin: goodnight_ _  
_ _Chan: goodnight_

Chan stares at that for a little while. _i’m glad it made you happy._

 _Everything you do makes me happy_ , he sort of wants to say. _Everything._

But he doesn’t.

He puts his phone down, and gets ready for bed, falling into dreams of cinema screens and distant gunfire.  



	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Build-up to the sleepover! This is also maybe the last chapter before the angst begins to kick in...
> 
> Next update Wednesday <3

Chan doesn’t see Jeongin much over the next few days, and he finds himself more than a little anxious over it; he’d wanted to meet up again quickly, spend time together so that he could see if his feelings were real; see if Jeongin’s eyes light the same spark in him in daylight as they did that night, curled up beneath the light of stars and their makeshift cinema. But he’s been called in for extra shifts on one of the buildings on the other side of town, and Oak is apparently reaching the age where they need to arrange leaving the home, so both Chan and Jeongin are more than a little busy.

They still text, though, as often as they can, and Chan spends his break sitting up in one of the empty windows, laughing at an image of Minho, standing vacantly amidst a sea of lentils coating the kitchen floor. The bag is still in his hand, visibly split down one side, and Sasha is a blur in the background as she laughs.

_ Dinner’s going well, _ he’s captioned it, and Chan wishes he could see the way Jeongin had smiled as he sent it.

"Hey, Chan," a voice from behind him says, and Chan glances up to see Hansol leaning on the opposite wall with a friendly smile. He and Chan have known each other a while; Hansol was already on the repair teams when Chan joined, despite being just a shade younger, and he taught him a lot of what he knows. "You good up here?"

"Yeah," Chan says vaguely, pocketing his phone. "Did you need me for something?"

Hansol shakes his head. "Not really. Me and a few of the other guys were going to grab some dinner though, and I just thought I should check if you wanted to come along. Planning on going to that noodle place a few streets away."

"Sure," Chan agrees. "Sounds good."

Hansol’s smile gets wider somehow. "Nice. It’ll be good to have you around. You rush off at the end of the day a lot lately." He raises an eyebrow. "On your phone at work, too… someone special in the picture?"

"I- sort of?" Chan says a little nervously. "Maybe? I don’t know yet."

"Well, if you’re answering like that, it kind of seems like you  _ do  _ know," Hansol tells him, not unkindly, and Chan laughs.

"Yeah," he agrees. "I guess I do."

Jeongin texts him halfway through dinner.

_ Jeongin: come here for dinner tomorrow? It’s been a while  
_ _ Chan: i’d love to  
_ _ Jeongin: great :) _

When Chan glances up from his phone, Hansol is watching him with something of a knowing look. Meeting Chan’s eyes, he tilts his head and smiles, and Chan smiles back.

Someone special, Hansol had called Jeongin.

Chan likes that.

* * *

Chan almost buys flowers on the way to the home the next day.

"For the kitchen table," he could say, he thinks as he looks at the bright bouquets. "I just thought they’d look nice."

But they’d be for Jeongin, really, and Chan doesn’t quite know how he’d actually cope with the idea of handing Jeongin flowers. He’d probably go red.

He decides against them, but their scent follows him all the way to Jeongin’s door.

It’s Minho who greets him; he and Jisung are in the kitchen together, unloading groceries, and Chan feels Minho’s sense of calm and safety wash over him almost as soon as he steps in.

"Hi, guys," he says, and Jisung gives him a little wave.

"Hi Chan!" Minho says happily. "Jeongin told us he invited you, but he’s with Ruva right now. He’ll be down in a sec."

"Everything ok?"

Minho sighs. "Children can be cruel to one another," he says tiredly. "We’ll see if they make up tomorrow."

"Ah. That doesn’t sound fun to deal with."

Minho shakes his head with a rueful smile. "A lot of tears, I’m afraid. But emergency chocolate and cuddles are keeping them at bay for now."

"I’m glad it’s such an easy fix," Chan points out, and Minho laughs.

"Oh, it gets harder the older they get. But still, we do our best. Help us unpack?"

"Sure."

They’re pretty much done by the time Jeongin comes back downstairs, Maisie on his back like a rucksack. "Mind your head," he tells her as they come to the end of the stairs, and she obediently ducks her head to avoid the ceiling, grinning broadly. Ruva follows a moment later, tugging at Maisie’s ankle with a slightly chocolate-smeared hand.

"Oh. Hi," Jeongin says with a smile when he catches sight of Chan, standing a little awkwardly by the counter.

"Hi," Chan replies. "Sorry, I’m- I’m kind of early, actually." He’s not sure why he feels embarrassed by that; it’s never bothered him before, and Jeongin has always been completely fine with him showing up at random. Maybe it’s the way Jeongin is smiling at him so softly; it’s the same kind of smile people tend to offer to fairy lights at Christmas when they think no one is looking, gentle and full of some secret joy.

Chan wonders if he looks at Jeongin the same way.

He probably does.

He’s sort of in love with him, after all.

"It’s ok," Jeongin tells him. "You can help me cook."

"I’m not actually great in the kitchen," Chan warns him, and Jeongin shakes his head as he gently lowers Maisie to the floor.

"Go play in the living room," he tells her and Ruva. "Maybe play something Ruva likes, Maisie."

"Scrabble, Scrabble, Scrabble," Ruva chants, and she starts cheering wildly when Maisie nods, the two of them disappearing into the living room.

"Ruva’s our resident bookworm," Minho tells Chan. "She likes to show off the words she knows."

"Yeah," Jeongin agrees, almost glowing with pride. "We had to put a pocket dictionary in the box because the other kids kept accusing her of making up words. She never does, though." He turns to Chan. "And don’t worry about not being a great cook. I just need you to chop things, really."

"We’ll go and supervise Scrabble," Minho says brightly, and he tugs a somewhat surprised Jisung out of the kitchen by the elbow, almost knocking his head on the doorframe. Jeongin laughs, shaking his head slightly, and Chan just watches him smile for a moment.

"Come on," Jeongin says eventually, handing Chan a chopping board and a knife. "We need to get the squash going."

Chan, as it turns out, is not good at cutting squash. It’s tough, and the curves of it make it impossible to hold it still against the board, and Jeongin looks at him with something like pity.

"It’s easier if you hold the knife a little further down," he says, stepping close to adjust Chan’s hand; he stands so that he’s just slightly behind him, one arm wrapping around Chan’s waist to reach his grip on the knife, and Chan resists the urge to turn and look into his eyes. He’ll be close, far too close, and Chan’s heart is having a hard enough time coping with Jeongin’s hand gently wrapping around his own.

"See?" he says softly. "I know your hand is closer to the blade, but you’ve got more control of it, and you can put more force behind it."

"Yeah," Chan says quietly. "I see."

Jeongin steps away, leaving a cold space against Chan’s back, and Chan can’t help turning to smile at him as they both return to their tasks. " At four years older, I should probably be the one teaching you things," he jokes, "but you’re sort of more of a person than I am somehow."

Jeongin smiles kindly at him. "I think you’re a perfectly functional person," he tells Chan. "Maybe you’re missing a few little skills, but we can fix that." He stops for a moment, eyes going wide. "Not that you’re like- a project, or anything? I didn’t meant to insinuate that I’m trying to fix  _ you _ , I just mean that maybe I can help with some stuff, I-"

"It’s ok," Chan reassures him, reaching over to squeeze his hand. "I get it." He offers Jeongin a slightly shakier smile than before. "I kind of needed the help. When I met you, I mean. You’ve done me some good."

"Well," Jeongin says after a moment of silence. "I had to return the favour somehow."

He looks at Chan, then, and his expression is a little difficult to read. It’s tender, somehow, and hopeful, and… wise, almost. It’s the face of someone who grew up too fast, and is still figuring out the last of the growing pains; of someone who’s found something, in a fast-changing world, that they don’t want to let go of.

"Consider it returned," Chan manages to say, chest swelling with an emotion that he can’t quite name. "We’re on even ground now."

"Yeah," Jeongin agrees. "Even ground."

* * *

Dinner is chaotic as usual; they’re squashed together fairly tightly with two extra people at the table, and at some point Arin just ends up on Felix’s lap so that Oak doesn’t get their knees kicked to the point of bruising by little feet. Maisie attempts to eat her ice cream without a spoon to make Ruva laugh, and Chan watches Jeongin sigh as he pulls out the packet of wet wipes that live in the drawer of the table apparently for this specific reason.

It’s nice, though. Jeongin insists on sitting beside Chan, so close that their shoulders are touching almost the whole time, and Chan can smell the now-familiar scent of his fabric softener every time he leans across the table for something.

It smells like home.

He stays until the younger children have been put to bed, and Jeongin offers him a tired smile as he comes back down the stairs.

"Sorry," he says. "You have no idea how grumpy they’ll be if they don’t get enough sleep." He sighs. "I have so much cleaning up to do. I wish I didn’t, because maybe then it wouldn’t feel rude to ask you to stay for a while, but…" he gestures to the plates, and the abandoned scrabble game in the living room, and Chan nods in understanding.

"It’s ok," he says. "I’ll see you again soon."

"About that," Jeongin says hesitantly. "I was thinking… maybe we should have that sleepover sometime soon? I asked Minho and Felix, and they said they were ok with me taking a night off sometime soon…"

"That would be nice," Chan agrees, even as his heart begins to thunder in his chest. "My sofa’s pretty small, but I’m ok to sleep on it if you want to take my bed."

Jeongin gives him a slightly pointed smile. "We’ve slept in the same bed a lot, Chan. I don’t mind sharing."

"Yeah," Chan concedes, laughing slightly to disguise the fact that he’s really not sure how he feels about sharing a bed with  _ this _ Jeongin. "I guess we have. I mean, you’re welcome any time, just… let me know so that I can tidy up a bit?"

"Sure," Jeongin agrees with a grin. "But trust me, it can’t be worse than this place gets sometimes."

"Oh, you’d be surprised."

After a few more minutes of idle, drawn-out chatter, Chan waves goodbye at the door. Apparently, it’s not good enough, because Jeongin pulls him into a hug, warm and close, and they stand there for a little while, just holding each other. Eventually, Chan hears Jeongin exhale slowly by his ear, and they pull away.

"I’ll see you soon," Chan tells him. "Text me about that sleepover."

"I will. Goodnight, Chan."

The door shuts, and Chan begins to wander home, still wrapped in the phantom warmth of their embrace as he tries to put all his feelings in a straight line so that he can examine them properly. He’s more certain about them before, he thinks. More certain about the fact that Jeongin is beautiful, and kind, and everything Chan wants; the fact that just the smell of his clothes is enough to make Chan feel like he’ll never be unsafe again; the fact that he, Chan, is well on his way to falling completely in love with the childhood best friend he thought he’d lost.

He doesn’t know if Jeongin feels the same, though, and the thought scares him more than he thought possible.

Halfway down that particular emotional road, Chan hears the door bang, and footsteps racing up behind him. He turns, frowning, only to see Jisung, stopped a few feet away, hands braced on his knees as he pants, having apparently sprinted to intercept him.

"Hi," Chan says. "Are you ok?"

Jisung holds up one finger, and Chan gives him a little bit of time to breathe before he watches him pull out his phone and begin typing. Of course; Chan doesn’t understand sign language, and Jisung can’t use his voice safely. So he waits, as Jisung types and backspaces and retypes, until he holds out his phone for Chan to read.

_ I just want to say thank you _ , it says,  _ for talking to Minho. I don’t think he ever would have accepted my feelings for him if you didn’t, and that was making me really sad, and now I’m not sad because he understands that I genuinely care about him and not his power. I’ve loved him for a long time now and it means a lot that you helped him see that so that he could let himself love me too. _

"Oh," Chan says. "That’s ok. It seemed like he was being kind of stupid about it, to be honest."

Jisung breaks into a broad, bright smile, and nods happily. He loves Minho a lot, Chan can tell, to be so endeared by his foolishness.

"I’m glad he’s stopped," Chan tells him, and Jisung nods again, still smiling. He looks so unbelievably happy that Minho is willing to let himself be loved now, and Chan thinks that he’s lucky to have found someone like Jisung. Someone so determined to see the best in him. "Well," he says. "Goodnight."

But Jisung holds up a finger again, and returns to typing.

_ Minho seems to think that you and Jeongin are like. A thing. And he told me to ask what your stance on that was. _

Chan feels himself turn red. "I don’t- we’re not. I mean. I’d like to be, I think. But we’re not."

_ But you’d like to be?  _ Jisung holds up his phone with raised eyebrows.

"Yeah," Chan admits quietly. "I kind of would. Don’t let Minho tell Jeongin that, though." He pauses. "Wait. Has Jeongin talked to Minho about it?" Jisung shrugs apologetically, and Chan sighs. "Yeah, that question was a long shot. Thanks for running after me, though."

_ No problem. See you around. _

"See you." He watches Jisung jog back towards the house for a moment before turning back towards home. That's… interesting. Apparently Minho is just as concerned with Jeongin’s love life as Seungmin and Hyunjin are with Chan’s. That’s just the nature of friends, he supposes.

But has Jeongin mentioned anything about him to Minho, he wonders? Have they talked? Minho obviously thinks there’s  _ something _ going on.  He sighs. Maybe he’ll have to try to talk to Minho. Or maybe not. Maybe that would be weird.

Sighing again, he sets off towards home. He has time to figure this out. It’s not like Jeongin’s going anywhere.

Not this time.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The sleepover arrives! Plus the angst. Sorry <3

In the end, they arrange their sleepover for Friday; the kids apparently don’t have any after-school activities that day, so they can have dinner half an hour early and Jeongin can pack a bag and slip away. Chan sends his address over, along with instructions on how to take a little shortcut round the back of a row of shops and down Plovers Way. Jeongin just sends a smiley face back in response, and Chan finds himself unreasonably endeared.

Jeongin sends him a photo sometime in the early evening; it’s apparently a shelf in a shop, piled high with various types of sweets and chocolate and anything containing vast amounts of sugar.

_ Jeongin: how much should we buy if we want to do this properly _ _   
_ _ Chan: uh _ _   
_ _ Chan: grab as much as you’d buy as a parent and then double it? _ _   
_ _ Jeongin: good call _ _   
_ _ Chan: i’ll pay you back half _ _   
_ _ Jeongin: thanks. Eating this amount of sugar always seemed more magical when we didn’t have to pay for it _ _   
_ _ Jeongin: still looking forward to doing it with you though :) _ _   
_ _ Chan: me too _

Around twenty minutes later, Jeongin lets him know that he’s outside the apartment building, and Chan almost knocks himself out when he falls over trying to pull on his shoe. He makes it down the stairs without mishap, though, and unlocks to the door to see Jeongin standing in the glow of the little outdoor light. He’s shivering slightly, shoulders drawn in against the cold, and it makes him look smaller than usual; but he smiles at the sight of Chan, back straightening a little, and he seems like himself again.

"Hi," he says, holding up the carrier bag of sweets. "If we eat all of this then we’re absolutely going to throw up."

Chan shrugs. "Let’s see how we go, I guess. Come on in." He ushers Jeongin inside, shutting out the early autumn air, and gestures for him to head up the stairs.

"Which floor are you on?" Jeongin asks, long legs taking two steps at a time and leaving Chan struggling to catch up.

"Fourth. The lift’s been broken for months though."

"I guess it’s good exercise," Jeongin points out.

"It is," another voice rings out from above them. "And it means he has to walk past our flat on the way up."

Chan looks up, searching for Seungmin, and sees him leaning over the third floor railing into the stairwell Hyunjin by his side. Seungmin offers him and Jeongin a little wave.

"Hi," he says. "We weren’t lying in wait, we’re just on our way out."

Chan laughs. "Sure. I definitely believe you. Going anywhere nice?"

"Dinner. You know that little Italian down by the train tracks?"

"Oh, good choice," Chan says approvingly, and Jeongin glances at him in surprise. "What? I’ve been to pretty much every restaurant in the city. They give discounts to the repair crews."

"I’ll expect you to take me out sometime then," Jeongin says, and Chan can feel Seungmin and Hyunjin’s gazes intensify just a little.

"You’re Jeongin, right?" Hyunjin asks, beginning to descend the stairs to meet them.

"I am," Jeongin agrees, and Hyunjin  _ beams _ .

"Hi!" he says brightly. "I’m Hyunjin. Chan’s told us a lot about you. This is Seungmin, my fiancé."

"Hi," Seungmin calls from above; he’s a little behind Hyunjin, being in the same predicament as Chan in that his partner has exceptionally long legs.

Not that Chan and Jeongin  _ are  _ partners. Not like that.

He feels himself turn slightly red.

"Good to meet you," Jeongin says, politely shaking Hyunjin’s hand. "I’m sorry to say I’ve not heard much about you."

Hyunjin looks at Chan with a rather dramatically wounded expression. "It’s ok," Seungmin says. "You guys have a lot of other things to talk about, I’d imagine."

Jeongin’s answering smile is a little shy. "Yeah," he agrees, "we do."

"We’ve already said this to Chan, but you two should come round for dinner at ours sometime," Hyunjin tells him. "It would be nice to get to know you ourselves and not just from what Chan says."

"Not that any of it’s bad," Seungmin adds. "He’s given a pretty glowing review in all honesty."

Jeongin turns to him with a slight glint in his eye. "Has he? I’m honoured."

"Yes, I think you’re great," Chan mutters. "You know that."

Jeongin’s expression softens a little, and he reaches out to take Chan’s hand. "Thanks."

There’s a moment of silence.  "We’ll… get to dinner now," Seungmin says through it. "We might lose our table if we’re late. Come on, Hyunjin."

"Yup," Hyunjin agrees. "It was good to meet you, though!"

"You, too," Jeongin says with a smile, and Chan thinks he can actually pinpoint the moment both of his friends are completely charmed. Jeongin’s smile has that effect; it’s bright, and warm, and makes him look several years younger. Chan should know. He’s spent plenty of time looking at it, after all.

"Have a good evening, guys," he tells them, and they smile as they wave goodbye. He watches them clatter down the stairs, Hyunjin almost pulling Seungmin over in his determination to hold his fiancé’s arm without altering the length of his stride to accommodate.

"They seem nice," Jeongin says to him, and Chan laughs.

"They are. I mean it. We’ve been pretty good friends since I moved here. We’re closer recently, though."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. I…" Chan pauses, wondering exactly how to phrase it. "I opened up about some stuff that I hadn’t told them," he decides to say. "Stuff about before."

He feels Jeongin squeeze his hand gently, and he doesn’t have to look up to know that he’s smiling softly at him. "I’m glad," Jeongin says quietly. "It’s always hard, but it’s worth it."

"Yeah," Chan agrees. "It is."

They settle into silence as they climb the last flight of stairs hand in hand, Jeongin just slightly ahead despite not really knowing where he’s going.

"On the left," Chan tells him, and he wanders over to a door, pointing to the number questioningly. "Yup. Number 18. That’s me."

He releases Jeongin’s hand to dig his key out of his pocket, flicking on the light as he steps in. Jeongin follows, looking around with an expression of thinly-veiled curiosity. " This is nice," he says as he stands in the little doorway, apparently unsure whether or not to take off his shoes. "It’s cosy."

Chan laughs. "Yeah, it’s… it’s kind of small? But I like it a lot, actually. Hey, pass me the uh- the bags, I’ll put the sugar here and I’ll go put your stuff on my bed so it’s there whenever we go into a sugar crash. You can leave your shoes wherever."

"Thanks," Jeongin says as he passes his bags over. "And thanks again for letting me come over. We could have done it at mine, but…"

"Kids, the fact you share a room with Minho, noise levels past bedtime… kids," Chan lists, and Jeongin laughs.

"Kids," he agrees. "I love them, but as long as they’re in the same house I’m in Dad Mode." His expression turns thoughtful. "I haven’t switched that off in a while actually."

"Well, you can tonight," Chan points out, and Jeongin nods slowly.

"I guess I can."

Watching that dawn on him, Chan is struck all over again by just how  _ young _ all of the Guardians are. Had life been normal, none of them would even be thinking about having children at their current age; maybe Minho, at twenty five, but it’s unlikely. And Jeongin had started training to be a Guardian when he was only seventeen, according to Felix. Far too young to grow up.

But he supposes they were all too young for a lot of things they’ve lived through.

"I’ll be back in a mo," he murmurs and disappears into his bedroom, just big enough for a double bed and a chest of drawers, to put Jeongin’s bag down. He stays there for a moment, collecting himself, enjoying the slight sounds of Jeongin moving around in the other room. It’s nice, he remembers, to have company here. It’s not something he really does.

But Jeongin changes everything, as always.

When he returns to the living room, Jeongin has poured out most of the sweets and chocolate onto his little coffee table. It’s something of an intimidating amount, and Jeongin seems to think so, too; his eyes have gone a little wide looking at it, and Chan can’t help but laugh slightly at his expression.

"What?" Jeongin asks, brows furrowing as he looks up from where he’s seated on the floor.

"You just- you looked kind of scared of the sweets," Chan tells him, fighting back a smile, and Jeongin’s expression clears until he laughs too.

"I bought a lot," he admits. "I guess I can keep the stuff we don’t eat and hide it in the top of the cupboard where Maisie can’t reach."

"Hey," Chan says, nudging him with his foot before he sits down next to him. "What did we say about Dad Mode?"

"Right. It’s off." He takes a deep breath. "We’re going to eat all of this, or die trying. Is that better?"

"Close enough."

They end up curled up on the sofa, an old rerun of a comedy show they’re both vaguely familiar with playing on Chan’s TV. It’s not the funniest thing in the world, but the fast-approaching sugar high and each other’s company makes it better, and they end up almost crying with laughter, unable to speak through bouts of giggles. They do their best to clear away the empty packets of chocolate bars and sweets, but end up just throwing them at each other until the sugar headaches, exacerbated by the canned laughter of the TV, get too much and they stumble into the kitchen for glasses of water and painkillers.

"We’re too old for this," Chan says breathlessly as he massages his temples, and Jeongin snorts.

"Speak for yourself. I’m barely past twenty-one."

"You refused to eat any of the pineapple flavoured sweets because they taste sickly," Chan points out.

"That’s not an age thing! I’ve never liked pineapple sweets!"

"Sure, sure, whatever you say."

Still laughing slightly, Jeongin glances back at the table. "We’ve got through… maybe half of what I bought," he tells Chan.

"Are you kidding me?" Chan turns to check and, sure enough, roughly half of the sweets and little wrapped cakes remain on the table. "We’re not going to finish that. I think I can feel my teeth rotting already."

Jeongin nods, laughing. "Honestly, I think one more square of chocolate might kill me." He sighs softly. "I can take it all home tomorrow, though."

Something in his tone is a little sad, and Chan nudges him gently with an elbow. "Hey," he says. "Leave it here. We can do this again, and then we’ll be ready and we won’t have to buy stuff."

Jeongin turns to face him properly, eyes shining a little in the faint light from the lamp in the corner. "I’d like that," he says with a fragile little smile. "If we did this again. I’m having fun."

"Me too," Chan agrees, and Jeongin’s expression shifts a little; it’s simultaneously serious and somewhat shy, and Chan finds he can’t really look away from it.

"I… honestly, Chan, I always have fun when I’m with you," he says quietly. "And it really means a lot. Not just because I don’t get to do things for myself very often, or because we knew each other before, but… just because you make me happy. You just… you mean a lot to me. As the person you are now, I mean. You mean a lot to me."

He hesitates, and Chan tries to read his expression again, taking in every little detail, but his gaze gets caught on Jeongin’s mouth somehow, even as he begins to speak again.

"I know we talk about the past a lot, and obviously I do care about that and I’m grateful for everything you did for me back then, but… I think I want to focus more on what you are to me now. Now that we’re both older, now that we’ve both..."

Chan only really notices him trail off because his lips stop moving. He’s a little fixated on the shape of them; the way he’s used to seeing them so thin when Jeongin smiles; but when he’s serious like this, like now, they’re fuller than Chan expects, soft and delicately shaped in a Cupid’s bow.

"Chan?" Jeongin asks, and Chan says nothing in response; he looks up, not knowing how to respond, and meets Jeongin’s eyes. His gaze is soft, and careful, and tinged with hope.

He feels Jeongin move just a fraction closer.

Carefully, Chan reaches up to touch his cheek.

He leans in, the distance between them decreasing in ever-smaller increments as they shift in each other’s orbit; Jeongin closes his eyes, and Chan can almost taste the faint residue of sugar on his lips.

The TV shuts off with a muted buzz, plunging the apartment into darkness along with the lamp.

They both pull back in surprise, staring around blankly despite the darkness.

"Power cut," Chan says eventually. "It might come back on in a minute."

"Do you think it’s just the building?" Jeongin asks. He’s beginning to glow slightly, just enough to illuminate the two of them.

"I don’t know." Chan crosses to the window, pulling back the curtain. Outside, the city is completely dark, the buildings barely distinguishable from the sky. His heart begins to tighten with fear in his chest. "I think… I think it’s the whole city."

"The whole-  _ shit _ _,"_ Jeongin hisses. "The kids."

Chan turns with a frown, and immediately squints into the light Jeongin is creating around himself. "The kids?"

"Normally I’m there to make nightlights for them," Jeongin explains frantically. "Minho and Felix got some temporary ones, but they plug into the wall, and they’ll have gone  _ out _ , and Arin won’t sleep without his." He meets Chan’s eyes, looking somewhat torn between the need to leave and the desire to stay. "I’m sorry," he says, and Chan shakes his head, ignoring the way his heart is sinking.

"It’s ok," he says. "I’ll get your stuff, don’t worry about cleaning up. It’s ok."

"I’m sorry," Jeongin says again, and Chan does his best to offer him a smile.

"I mean it, Jeongin. It’s fine."

Jeongin has already pulled on his shoes and his coat when Chan returns, passing him his bag and reaching around him to open the door.  "Thanks," he says quietly, and for a moment Chan thinks he’ll leave without another word, running home to take care of the children he loves as though they’re his own flesh and blood. But he hovers in the corridor for a moment, shining from across the threshold, and meets Chan’s gaze with an expression so hesitant that it almost hurts. " We… we need to talk though," he says slowly. "Not right now. But… but can we talk? Soon?"

Chan knows exactly what he means. "Yeah," he says, remembering in vivid detail what it had felt like to be on the verge of kissing him, on the edge of tipping over into something more quantifiable than what they are now. "We can talk. I’ll text you, and you can come over here again, and… we can talk."

Jeongin visibly relaxes. "Good," he says. "I think we need to. Talk, I mean."

"Mm."

For a moment, when neither of them moves to say goodbye, Chan thinks that one of them might close the distance again; might steal a momentary kiss out of some desperation to know that it’s the right thing to do.

Looking at Jeongin, glowing softly in the little space between the stairs and his doorway, Chan wants to.

But he steps back, and tries to smile.  "You should get home," he says, and Jeongin nods, taking a step towards the stairs.

"Sorry," he says again.

"Text me when you get home."

"I will."

Jeongin disappears down the stairs, and Chan closes the door.

Alone in his pitch-black apartment, he almost starts to cry.

He manages to get a hold of himself, although only by the skin of his teeth. "There’s nothing to cry over," he tells himself out loud. "He was going to kiss you back. You’re going to talk about it. It’s going to be fine." He sighs. "And right now you have to clean up your apartment."

He doesn’t move.

The power doesn’t come back on.

"He was going to kiss you back," he tells himself more softly, and lets his head fall back against the wall. He’d been about to kiss Jeongin. After all this time, all those moments of meaning more to each other than either of them could quite make sense of, all those little, gentle interactions that made Chan feel as though the world had stopped to wait for them.

He sighs again, and gets to his feet. He knows his flat well enough to clean up in the dark, and he can use his phone as a torch anyway. No excuses.

He’s almost done cleaning up when the text comes through.

_ Jeongin: home, and nightlights restored _ _   
_ _ Chan: everything ok? _ _   
_ _ Jeongin: got there in the nick of time. Arin was refusing to go to bed and Maisie was crying _ _   
_ _ Jeongin: i’m sorry though _ _   
_ _ Jeongin: i really am _ _   
_ _ Chan: it’s honestly ok _ _   
_ _ Chan: we’ve got enough sweets to do this again _ _   
_ _ Chan: and we can talk soon _ _   
_ _ Jeongin: yeah _ _   
_ __ Jeongin: we can talk

Neither of them seem to know what to say after that; there’s so very much left unspoken, but Chan would much rather do it in person. Apparently, Jeongin feels the same.

So they leave it there. Chan brushes his teeth in the dark, and takes another painkiller, and goes to bed. He texts Jeongin goodnight, and lies awake for forty-five minutes until a reply comes through.

_ Jeongin: sweet dreams <3 _

Chan stares at that for a while, and falls asleep with his phone still clutched in his hand.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the worst the angst gets, I promise. Only one more chapter to go before the epilogue <3

He doesn’t hear Jeongin’s voice for another four days.

After the source of the power cut is revealed, an aura of dread seems to settle over the entire city; an underground store of explosives has been discovered, leftovers from the war, hidden until now from the authorities set up to dispose of them safely, and their attempts to do so had set one of them off. The damage to nearby cables had shut off power to the entire city, and although it’s been repaired, everyone is on edge. If one has exploded, the others could too.

Frankly, Chan thinks, it’s a miracle they didn’t all go off at once in a chain reaction. He’s grateful that they didn’t, though; they were stored only a few miles outside the city, and the shockwaves disturbed the ground enough that several of the buildings on the outskirts, only four or so streets away from Chan’s apartment building, have been declared unsafe due to damage to their foundations.

The evacuations were a subdued and silent affair, the echoes of the war ringing too harshly in everyone’s ears for them to really know what to say. People from all over the city have taken in the residents as lodgers, folding out sofas and pushing beds to one side to make room for a mattress on the floor. It’s heartening to see, but there’s still so much fear hanging over the streets that Chan thinks he might choke on it. He’s not on the repair teams chosen to see to the damaged buildings, but Hansol is, and despite his friend’s easy smile when Chan sees him in the street, he has nightmares about seeing him buried under rubble, blood clotted in his hair and a film of dust settling over his staring eyes as he grows cold.

But eventually, Jeongin calls him.

"Hi," he says, and there’s an almost muted quality to his voice, as if there’s an ocean between his thoughts and the word. Chan knows how he feels. "Are you ok?"

"Yeah," Chan says, and then hesitates. "No."

"Me neither," Jeongin admits softly. "Got to keep a brave face though."

"How are the kids?"

"Arin’s fine. Maisie and Ruva know that something’s wrong, but they don’t understand what, and it’s making them unhappy. Sasha and Oak are…" there’s a long pause, and Chan can feel the guilt in it. Jeongin wants to help. Wants to be a Guardian. But he’s struggling, too, and he’s still far, far too young for this. "They’re scared."

"Yeah."

Jeongin says nothing in response, and the silence stretches out into something that isn’t silence anymore; just a space between the two of them, occupied by the hum of the phone line and all the little sounds at either end. Arin’s voice, muffled as he half-shouts something to Minho in another room; the faint murmur of traffic outside; the distant buzz of music from another flat.

Chan feels a little of the tension leave him just from the concept of sitting in silence with Jeongin.

"It’s going to be a while, I think," Jeongin tells him quietly. "Until I can see you. I need to make sure everyone’s ok here."

"Of course you do," Chan agrees. "I understand. Make sure that you’re ok, too, though."

"Felix and Minho are looking after me," Jeongin reassures him. "The nightmares have gotten bad again, though. I keep waking Minho up."

"Yeah. Same here."

Chan doesn’t tell Jeongin that he’s started dreaming about him again. That he wakes up with his throat hoarse from shouting because he’s been trying so desperately to save him, but Jeongin, tall and brave and beautiful, is bleeding from so many wounds that Chan doesn’t have a hope of mending them; or he’s holding him as tight as he can, but there are faceless soldiers pulling at him, too many hands grasping at Jeongin’s arms and his hair and his clothes, and Chan feels him slip away into the distance.

He’s not sleeping much at all, really.

It doesn’t sound like Jeongin is, either.

"I’ll call again soon," Jeongin promises. "When I get time. There’s just a lot going on here."

"I get it," Chan says, but he can’t really relate. His flat is the opposite, empty and silent and slowly closing in around him as the aura in the streets opens up too many old wounds for him to wander them. "We still need to have that talk when… when this is over."

"Yeah. We do. When this is over."

"It will be soon," Chan tells him. "This won’t last. It’s not another war, it’s just… remnants."

He’s reassuring himself as much as Jeongin, but Jeongin sounds just a little brighter when he next speaks, so perhaps it’s the right thing to say. " Just remnants," Jeongin repeats, and then sighs. "I have to go. Maisie has a drama club thing, and we’ve decided to act like everything is completely normal, so…"

"Go on," Chan says. "Let her have fun. And be safe."

"You, too. Promise me."

"I promise."

"Talk soon."

"Yeah."

Jeongin waits a beat before he hangs up, and Chan thinks he can hear something in his hesitation that sounds like  _ I love you. _

He hopes his own silence said the same.

* * *

Another five days pass, and slowly, the fear begins to fade from the city. Some more of the explosives are carefully moved and disposed of with apparently no ill effects; there were apparently some minor explosions, but nothing so serious as before. Repairs begin on the newly damaged areas so that people can move back into their homes as soon as possible. Things still aren’t entirely right, though; there’s still tension carving itself into the lines of every face, and people walk with their children or loved ones pulled closer to them. Even Seungmin does it, Hyunjin complains to Chan, constantly holding him against his side as though it’ll keep them both safe.

"I don’t really mind it, though," Hyunjin says quietly. "It makes me feel safer too, if I’m honest." He offers Chan a slightly fragile smile. "Things will be ok, though. Soon."

"Yeah," Chan agrees. "Soon."

Jeongin calls him later that day, just as the afternoon is blurring into evening. "Are you free?" he asks tentatively. "Minho and Felix have taken the kids out to try to calm them down and give me some time to nap, but… I can’t really sleep. And I wondered... if you wanted to have that talk."

"Yeah, I’m free," Chan tells him, heart rate picking up just slightly in his chest. He’s going to see Jeongin again. They’re going to make sense of things. "Do you want me to come to you, or-"

"I kind of want to get out," Jeongin interrupts. "Can I come to yours?"

"Sure. You know the way, right?"

"I do. How could I forget your clever shortcut?"

"Glad I’m teaching you a few things," Chan teases, and Jeongin laughs. Even down the phone, the sound of it warms his chest. Things are going to be ok. As long as he has Jeongin, things will be ok. "I’ll see you soon then, ok?"

"Yeah, I’ll set off now. It’s going to be good to see you."

"You too."

Jeongin hangs up, and Chan almost does a little dance around his flat before he remembers that he should probably at least tidy it. He hoovers quickly, and does some of his washing up, and rearranges the cushions on the sofa several times before laughing at his own silliness. It’s Jeongin. He lives with five children. He most certainly will not care about the state of Chan’s sofa cushions.

But maybe he should rearrange them one more time anyway.

He reaches for the closest one, and the distant sound of something breaking, falling, crumbling, almost has him collapsing to the floor.

For a moment, Chan can’t process what’s happened; there appears to be no source to the noise that he can see, but it feels like the whole world has shaken; he staggers to the window, and he doesn’t know what he’s looking at for a moment, the landscape changed in such a surreal way that he can’t make sense of it.

But eventually, it dawns on him.

Part of the city has collapsed.

There are holes in the roads, and a few of the smaller buildings have been shaken down, crumbling into their foundations as though something has burrowed underneath them. People are screaming, he realises distantly, the sound suddenly becoming clear as he processes what it is. Crying out for help as they try to escape their homes or go back for their loved ones. The bridge over the river has collapsed, too, and something about that makes Chan’s blood go cold.

His shortcut to the home.

It runs right past that very bridge. 

Chan almost doesn’t take the time to pull on his shoes before he’s out the door.

_ Jeongin,  _ he’s thinking frantically.  _ Please let him not have set out yet. Please let him be delayed cleaning up toys, or washing dishes, or finding his key. Please, please, please. _

The turning onto Plover’s Way is scattered with rubble and roof tiles, people stumbling out of broken-down and sunken doorways; it’s barely recognisable, and when Chan feels a tile crack beneath his boot, he feels sick. It all falls apart so easily.

Trying to collect himself, Chan finds he almost daren’t take another step down the street. He wants to go back, outside the radius of the damage, back to his flat where it doesn’t feel like he’s teetering on the edge of a warzone. A living nightmare, arms open to take hold of him again as people cry out for their families, buried in the rubble.

But Jeongin might be there. Might need him.

Chan steps forward, the broken tile clattering under his boots as he kicks it away.

He takes another step, despite how weak his knees feel.

"Jeongin?" he calls faintly, and he can taste the dust on his tongue as it settles like snow. "Jeongin?"

_ Please don’t answer me. Please don’t be here. _

"Jeongin!"

For a dizzy, distant moment, he thinks his voice will be drowned out by everyone else, the echoes of the explosion and rising voices pressing him into silence.

But ever so faintly, he hears a reply.

"...Chan?"

"Jeongin!" he calls again, and he can hear his own voice now, it’s real, it’s there. "Where are you?"

"Chan…"

Chan does his best to aim for the sound, trying to pinpoint his voice. For a moment, he thinks he won’t be able to find him, thinks Jeongin might be buried under rubble, suffocating, bones slowly being crushed beneath the weight of stone-

"Chan? I- I think I can see you."

Out the corner of his eye, there’s movement. He turns, and sees Jeongin - real and lovely and  _ alive _ \- struggling to sit up, clutching his side, skin coated in dust and flecks of stone caught in his hair.  Chan rushes over to him, kneeling by his side and hovering, unsure whether to pull him into his arms for fear of causing more damage.

"Jeongin," he manages to say, and it’s like just saying his name opens up a floodgate. "Oh god. Are you- are you hurt, are you bleeding anywhere, can you- your side, do you think your ribs might be broken?"

"I think I’m fine," Jeongin tells him, but his voice is shaking. "I’m just- I got a little bruised, I think, I fell awkwardly and my ankle might be sprained, but I’m ok. Nothing bad. Help me up?"

Chan wraps an arm around his waist, doing his best to support him as Jeongin hauls himself up onto one foot. They’re both trembling, and Chan is almost leaning on Jeongin as much as Jeongin’s leaning on him, but they manage to stay upright.

Close to his ear, Jeongin exhales slightly. "Thanks," he says. "That feels better."

Chan looks up at him, more than a little confused. "What? Standing up."

Jeongin blinks at him. "No," he says slowly. "You made it stop hurting. My ankle. And my side." Chan doesn’t really know how to respond, and Jeongin’s expression shifts. "Chan, did you not know that you were doing that?"

"No," Chan admits, reeling a little. He used his powers. How long has it been since he used them on someone? "I- It’s been a long time. I didn’t- I didn’t feel that, I didn’t know, I-"

"Hey," Jeongin says soothingly as he apparently picks up on the beginnings of tears in Chan’s voice. His own voice is shaking, too, and Chan just wants to lie down in the dust and hold him. "Hey, it’s ok. Let’s just get home, ok? We can talk about it later." He looks around. "Your place is closer, I think. We both just… we need to sit down."

It doesn’t take them too long to reach Chan’s apartment block. Is it safe, he wonders? It’s close to the other buildings that have collapsed. What if it’s next? What if he and Jeongin settle down there, thinking of it as a haven from the havoc outside, only to end up trapped if it falls?

But Jeongin has fallen silent, his whole body beginning to tremble as some kind of shock settles in, and every time he coughs Chan is reminded of all the dust that must be coating his lungs. He needs to rest.

The stairs are slow going, Jeongin’s breath an unhappy wheeze on the upper flights, but they make it. Chan lowers him down onto the sofa carefully, and gets him a glass of water, and then just… sits at his feet while he drinks it. Jeongin doesn’t say anything to encourage him to move, and it takes Chan a little while to even remember that he should take off Jeongin’s shoe to check on his ankle.  Jeongin sits silently while he does it, and only inhales slightly when Chan places a bag of frozen peas against it to bring the swelling down. His expression doesn’t look vacant, not really, just… lost. Chan understands. It’s taking all of his energy just to stay in the here and now.  _ For Jeongin _ _,_ he tells himself.  _ He needs you _ .

An hour and a half passes before Jeongin speaks again. Once the peas had defrosted, Chan had just left them on the floor and climbed up onto the sofa, curling up against Jeongin’s side and beginning to pull the little pieces of stone from his hair. Somehow, the action almost makes him cry. It’s such a little thing, but there are too many of them, and he doesn’t think he can get them all out.

The sound of Jeongin’s phone ringtone is impossibly loud in the silence they’ve knitted around themselves. For a moment, Jeongin doesn’t react to it, but then he blinks, dazed, and pulls it from his pocket. There’s a large crack across the screen, but it’s still lighting up, and Chan watches as Jeongin holds it up to his ear.

"Hey, Felix," he says, and his voice is hoarse enough that it almost hurts to hear. "Yeah, I’m- I’m ok. I’m at Chan’s, I’m not badly hurt, just- yeah. Yeah, I’m not coming back today, I don’t- I can’t go out there again today."

Chan reaches for his hand. He understands, knows all too well the feeling that the outside world is just waiting to drag them back into a childhood of fear and bombs and blood. He doesn’t want to leave his flat for a little while either.

"Thanks, Felix. I’ll talk to them tomorrow, ok? I just- I can’t right now, I just need to- yeah. Yeah. Thanks."

He hangs up, and lapses back into silence, lowering his phone slowly onto the arm of the sofa. His hand lies limp in Chan’s own, not really responding to his touch.

"You can stay as long as you need," Chan tells him, and his voice appears to wake Jeongin up slightly. He meets Chan’s gaze, eyes wide and still a little glassy, and he seems to have to put effort in to focus on him.

"Thanks," he says. "It might- I don’t want to go out there. I don’t want to not have you with me."

The sincerity of his words pushes right into Chan’s bones, and he does his best to pull Jeongin close into an awkward embrace. "Stay, then," he says as Jeongin slowly settles his arms around Chan’s waist. "Stay with me."

"I will."

They don’t move for a while. It’s not the most comfortable position, really; Chan’s back is twisted strangely, and Jeongin’s face is pressed awkwardly into his shoulder, but there’s comfort in it. Just to be close. Holding each other as though they’re each about to fall apart.

"Can I take a shower?" Jeongin asks after maybe fifteen minutes have passed. "I’m kind of dusty."

"Oh- yeah, sure." Chan pulls away reluctantly, leaving his hand on Jeongin’s knee for a moment to keep himself grounded. "How does your ankle feel? Can you stand?"

"I guess we’ve got to try," Jeongin says quietly, and Chan helps him to his feet, slowly letting go once he’s upright. Jeongin stumbles almost immediately, reaching out for him, and Chan manages to catch him before he falls. "Ok," Jeongin says, voice shaking. "Maybe not."

"It’s ok," Chan tells him, reaching up to brush some of the dust from his eyebrow. "I can help. If you’re ok with that."

Jeongin gives a tired sigh, leaning heavily on his shoulder. "Yeah," he agrees vaguely. "Yeah, that works."

They hobble to the bathroom. Chan helps Jeongin strip down to his underwear, and does the same himself; it’s something that would normally embarrass him, he thinks, but he doesn’t really feel it now. They both need to get clean, need to feel the dust and fear washed from their skin, and the idea of it is taking up so much space in his head that Chan can’t even find it in him to be flustered.

Squeezed into the tiny cubicle, Jeongin still leaning on his shoulder, they stand beneath the flow of the water together. It washes down the drain in a slowly fading shade of brown, and little by little, he feels Jeongin relax. Tension drifts away from him along with the steam until he settles completely into Chan’s arms, eyes closed, looking almost at peace. Chan just holds him close. He doesn’t think he ever wants to let go.

But eventually, the water begins to run cool, and Chan reaches gently around Jeongin to switch it off. Jeongin sighs against his shoulder.

"Can we just go to sleep now?" he murmurs. "I’m tired."

"Yeah," Chan agrees. "That sounds like a good idea."

Chan’s pyjama bottoms don’t really fit Jeongin, too short in the ankle by far, but Jeongin doesn’t particularly seem to care. He settles beneath the covers of Chan’s bed without complaint, curling himself in a ball and closing his eyes. Carefully, Chan settles in next to him, pressing his forehead to Jeongin’s and wrapping his arms around him; Jeongin sighs in response, unfurling himself a little so that he can curl an arm over Chan’s waist and hold him close.

"This is good," he says sleepily, words blurring together. He’s definitely not right, Chan thinks, still drifting a little to avoid facing what’s happened, but Chan doesn’t really know what to do except let him sleep. "Safe."

"Safe," Chan repeats. "We’re safe."

Jeongin hums, shifting to press his nose against the soft hollow of Chan’s clavicle, and without thinking, Chan presses a kiss to his hair.

_ We’re safe _ _,_ he thinks.  _ We’re together. We’re safe. _

He whispers it against Jeongin’s hair like a mantra until the rhythm of it pulls him into sleep.   



	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for not sticking to my update schedule, I took a mental health day yesterday! I'll post the epilogue tomorrow to make up for it <3

They sleep for over twelve hours, curled in each other’s arms. Chan thinks that it might Jeongin’s stirring that wakes him, but he can’t be sure, the sunlight playing enough of a part that maybe it was just too bright to sleep any longer.

Opening his eyes, he looks over at Jeongin. His hair is tousled and tangled from sleep, fanning across the pillow slightly, and Chan can see his eyes flitting from side to side beneath the lids. He shifts, expression contorting into a frown, and makes a small, unhappy sound. A nightmare, then.

"Hey," Chan says gently, pressing close; they’ve drifted apart slightly in the night, but Jeongin is warm and solid and reassuring, and Chan is more than happy to be close to him again. "Hey, it’s ok. I’m here. You’re ok."

Jeongin doesn’t wake; he whimpers, twisting in Chan’s arms and crying out until Chan has to sit up and shake his shoulders gently, brushing his hair from a slightly fevered forehead.

"Jeongin? Jeongin, wake up. Jeongin-"

Jeongin wakes with a gasp, chest heaving as he tries to breathe, eyes scanning wildly for a moment before they settle on Chan, hands coming up to grasp his arms.

"It’s ok," Chan tells him again. "Just a nightmare. I’m here."

"You’re here," Jeongin says in a small voice. "I thought- you weren’t here." He squeezes his eyes shut, obviously making a conscious effort to slow his breathing. "In the dream," he says eventually. "I woke up on my own and you weren’t here and I could hear it all outside the flat."

Chan doesn’t have to ask what he means. "It’s ok," he says again. "I’m not going anywhere." He presses a palm to Jeongin’s forehead. "Maybe we should take you to a hospital today, though. You’re a little warm, and I think you maybe inhaled too much dust-"

Jeongin shakes his head slowly, reaching up to pull Chan down so that his head rests on Jeongin’s shoulder. "No," he says quietly. "I don’t want to go out there."

"Jeongin-"

"I’ll be fine. It’ll be better tomorrow. If it’s not, we’ll go then."

"Ok," Chan agrees, settling down in earnest. He doesn’t particularly want to go out either, if he’s honest. "If you’re not better tomorrow." He pauses. "How’s your ankle?"

"It hurts a bit," Jeongin murmurs, "but not as bad as yesterday."

Chan hesitates. He’s not sure if he really wants to do this. But it had worked yesterday, and if Jeongin needs him to… "Do you… do you want me to try to make it better?"

Jeongin shifts, tilting his head at a slightly awkward angle to meet Chan’s eyes. "Only if you want to. I don’t want to push you."

"I’ll try," Chan says quietly. "I don’t want it to hurt."

He reaches for Jeongin’s hand, trying to focus in on the warmth of his skin. It’s been a long time since he  _ tried _ to do this, and he doesn’t particularly know what to do. But he tries to reach out. To feel the pain, and pull it away as gently as he can.

"Oh," Jeongin says quietly. "That feels... better."

Chan doesn’t have time to reply before his head begins to spin, the phantom sensation of mud and blood slick on his skin. He pulls away, tearing his hand from Jeongin’s and scrambling to the other side of the bed so that they’re no longer touching.

"Chan? Are you alright?"

"I-" he begins, and then stops, trying to breathe through his nose for a moment. "No," he manages to say. "I don’t… I don’t think I can do that again. I thought after yesterday…"

"That’s ok," Jeongin tells him, reaching out as one might to a wounded animal. "Yesterday was exceptional circumstances, ok? Odd things were bound to happen. It’s ok that you can’t do it today, yeah?"

"Yeah," Chan agrees quietly, but he doesn’t miss the way Jeongin winces as he reaches over to him.

"Let’s get out of bed," Jeongin suggests, and Chan nods slowly. They’re both already shaken by the day, and maybe breakfast will help.

"I kind of want a shower," he says. He can still smell iron and dirt on his arms and hands, and he wants to get rid of the sensation.

"Oh! Sure, you should… do that," Jeongin replies, and Chan watches him flounder for words for a moment. He can tell what’s going through his head, and he does his best to help.

"I mean- if you want to wash too- you probably shouldn’t stand on your ankle, still, so-"

"Yeah," Jeongin agrees quickly. "Yeah, I don’t think I should really put pressure on it."

_ I still need you right by my side. I still need to be close to you and I don’t know when that’ll stop so maybe we should just let it happen. _ It runs under their words like a current, carrying them along, and Chan wonders when they’ll just say it.

Sharing the shower is different to yesterday; they’re more coherent, less hollow from shock, and just… more  _ aware _ of each other. Chan helps Jeongin out of his pyjama bottoms so that he doesn’t have to stand on his injured ankle, just as before, and even though there’s no real need, Jeongin pulls Chan’s t-shirt over his head for him, gently prompting him to raise his arms so that the sleeves will pull free. In the shower, he takes hold of Chan’s shaking hands and runs the soap carefully over his forearms and between his fingers, cleansing the phantom feeling of death from his skin, and Chan does his best to keep the foam out of Jeongin’s eyes as he washes the last of the dust and grit out of his hair. They spend longer than they need to there; it’s gentle, and safe, and it’s just the two of them. Taking care of each other, just as they always have.

They eat cereal on the floor together at two in the afternoon, sitting in a patch of sunlight that’s slowly moving across Chan’s floor. The peas are still there, in a little puddle of water, and Jeongin seems to struggle not to laugh every time he looks at them.

Neither of them look out the window.

Felix calls again halfway through their meal (if it can really be called that) and Jeongin puts his bowl down to answer it.

"Hi," he says. "Yeah, better today. I might stay here until tomorrow, though. Or maybe the day after, unless you really need me. I don’t… outside seems a bit much still." He nods as he listens to Felix talk, then frowns as Chan reaches over and picks up his bowl, stealing the last of his cereal.

"What?" Chan asks quietly. "It’s going soggy."

Jeongin rolls his eyes, and goes back to listening. "Wait, so they know what happened? But that’s… that’s it now, right? There’s no more?" Chan watches his shoulders slump with relief. "Ok. It’s over, then. Ok. Is he- right, he’s fine, good. Yeah, I’d love to say hi, put it on speaker."

Chan hears multiple voices flood through the phone, and Jeongin winces, moving it a little way from his ear. "Hi, guys!" he says brightly. "Are you all ok? Yeah? I miss you, too, Ruva. I’ll be back soon, I promise, I’m just staying with Chan for a bit! Say hi, Chan." He switches to speaker, and Chan hastily swallows his mouthful of Jeongin’s cereal so that he can talk.

"Hi!" he calls over. "Sorry, I’ve stolen Jeongin for a bit. He’s looking after me."

"I hope he’s doing a good job," he hears Felix say, and from the tone of his voice he’s feeling just as shaken as the two of them are, hiding it for the sake of the younger children.

"He is," Chan promises, and Jeongin smiles gently at him. "I’ll give him back soon, though, I promise."

Jeongin laughs, pulling the phone back to his ear to continue the conversation. "There, see? I’m not by myself. We’re ok. I’m glad you’re all ok too." There’s a great deal of genuine relief behind the brightness of his voice, and Chan wants to take his hand.  _ It’s ok _ _,_ he wants to say to him yet again.  _ It’s ok _ .

Jeongin hangs up not long after that, heaving out a sigh as he does so. "Are the others ok?" Chan asks, and he nods.

"Yeah. They were all on the other side of town. Changbin was walking down by the river, and he fell in when the bank collapsed, but someone pulled him out pretty quickly so he’s fine. Apparently it was all because the same store of explosives that caused the power cut; they decided  _ not _ to tell us that there’d been a few other small explosions sending out shockwaves, so when the last few went off in one go, bits of the city were already unstable enough underground that they just…"

"Went."

"Yeah. The last of them are gone, though. So it’s over."

"Speak for yourself," Chan jokes weakly. "I’m the repair guy."

"I guess you are." Jeongin looks up, eyes sharp with worry. "Be safe. When you go back to work, I mean."

"I will," Chan promises. "I always am."

"Good." He yawns. "God, I’m still tired."

"Me, too," Chan admits. "Want to go back to bed?"

"Not really," Jeongin says. "Pass me a pillow off the sofa?"

And so they lie there like that, side by side, imagining constellations on Chan’s living room ceiling as the sunlight passes over them. Chan does his best to stay awake, but Jeongin’s voice is soothing, and the sunlight is warming his skin, and little by little, he falls asleep by Jeongin’s side.

* * *

The sun is just beginning to set when Chan awakes from his nap. He stretches, back clicking as he does so, and winces a little.

"We shouldn’t have slept on the floor," Jeongin says from beside him, and Chan turns to see him still lying there, smiling in the last of the sunlight. Chan’s lying on his arm, he realises, and he sits up slightly so that Jeongin can pull it free and shake feeling back into his fingers.

"No," Chan says, settling his head back onto the pillow from the sofa. "We probably shouldn’t have." He turns to face Jeongin, basking a little in the warmth of his smile. "I’m glad we did, though. This is nice."

"Yeah," Jeongin agrees softly. "It is." He pauses, looking down at the floor and tracing the patterns of the fake wood with his fingertips. "I don’t… maybe this is a bad time, what with everything that just happened, but… I was wondering if you wanted to have that talk? It’s fine if not, I get that it’s a weird time, but… you know. Since we’re here."

He looks up to meet Chan’s eyes again, obviously a little uncertain, a little unsure; but there’s a kind of resolution there in his gaze that Chan thinks they share. They each know what they want from this. It’s just a matter of making sure that they’re on the same page, at this point.

"I think that might be a good idea," Chan says. "Since we’re here."

Jeongin’s eyes widen, and Chan gets the impression he doesn’t quite know what to do with this moment now that he’s faced with it. "Ok," he says. "I guess… I guess I just say my piece, then." He exhales, and Chan reaches out to rest his hand atop Jeongin’s. For a moment, Jeongin just stares at the points where their skin touches; Chan’s palm against the back of his hand, thumb gently stroking over the bone of his wrist.

"I love you," Jeongin says, and Chan feels the world go still, as if the sun has hesitated in setting to let them have this moment. "As in, I’m… I’m  _ in _ love with you. And I think you feel the same. Or close to it. I think you feel… you feel  _ enough _ for me to want to kiss me. But I don’t really know what that means." He looks up with a fragile little smile. "It would be nice if you could explain."

"I love you, too," Chan tells him softly. The words are so very gentle on his tongue, and honestly, he thought that they would be more difficult to say. But nothing about his relationship with Jeongin has been difficult, really. He just makes everything easy, somehow. "I’ve loved you since our cinema trip. Or maybe a bit before. I don’t know if I could give you an exact moment. But that was when I figured it out, really."

"I loved you first, then," Jeongin teases gently. "But I knew that already."

"When was it for you?"

Jeongin sighs, a slight dusting of pink rising in his cheeks. "When I woke up from a nap on the sofa and you were there. It just… it felt right. To have you there. And I realised that wasn’t entirely because it felt like you were keeping me safe. I know that seems kind of fast, maybe, but... I don't know. When I met you again, it was like you'd never left at all. And it just settled into place." He lifts Chan’s hand, toying gently with his fingers. "I really thought you weren’t interested for a while, though. I thought you just saw me as a child still, not someone you could love like that."

"It was sort of like that at first," Chan admits. "I’d look at you, and I’d just… see everything you used to be. But seeing you with the kids… at some point I realised that you’d grown up." He shifts a little closer, reaching out to brush a little of Jeongin’s hair from his eyes. They cut right through him, those eyes, warming their way through every layer of shadow around his heart. "You’re so beautiful, these days. I mean, don’t get me wrong, you were an adorable kid, but… you’re beautiful, now. I mean it."

"Says you. How was my heart supposed to hold its own when the guy who protected me for the worst years of my life showed up again looking like you?"

"Shut up," Chan mutters, and Jeongin laughs.

"No," he says, and he leans in, pressing his forehead to Chan’s. "I’m in love with you. I’m allowed to give you compliments."

"Mm… argument accepted. Compliment me, then."

"Oh, well. Not if you’re going to be like that about it."

Chan laughs, and he feels Jeongin join in as much as he hears it; they’re pressed close enough to know when the other moves, to sense it every time they breathe. It’s nice. He loves being close to Jeongin like this.

He loves  _ Jeongin _ .

"You know what you said before," he murmurs. "About me wanting to kiss you?" Jeongin’s eyes widen a little, but he nods, a fraction of a motion, keeping their foreheads pressed together as he does so. "I sort of want to do that right now."

"Yeah," Jeongin whispers. "Me, too."

"Ok, then."

"Ok."

For a moment, neither of them move, and Chan sees Jeongin’s eyes begin to crease as though he’s about to laugh; Chan moves before he can, pulling away just a little so that he can lean in at the right angle to finally,  _ finally _ kiss him.

Chan doesn’t know whether it’s what he expects; perhaps he hasn’t imagined kissing Jeongin in enough detail to expect anything. But Jeongin kisses in little flurries, pulling away just slightly every now and then to smile and leave Chan following before he leans in again; it’s sweet, and gentle, and a little playful. It’s Jeongin.

"Sorry," he says quietly when he pulls back for a longer moment. "I probably really need lip balm."

"You do," Chan admits. "But I don’t mind."

Jeongin laughs. "I have five kids, three of which will cry if their lips get cracked. Any lip balm I buy for myself ends up in their pockets or under their beds somewhere."

"I’ll buy you one that tastes like something gross and grown up like liquorice," Chan promises. "Then they won’t steal it."

"As long as you don’t mind liquorice," Jeongin points out, and Chan laughs softly.

"I’m not a fan. But I’d manage for you."

"Oh, really?"

"Yeah. Wanna know why?"

"Go on, then."

"Because I love you," Chan tells him, and Jeongin breaks into a smile.

"I love you, too," he says, eyes shining, and leans in to kiss Chan again, the last of the sunlight turning the moment to solid gold around them.

* * *

Jeongin ends up staying with Chan for another two days. He tries to leave the day after Felix calls, but can’t quite manage it; he stands in the doorway, brow furrowed and eyes squeezed shut, until Chan takes his hand and pulls him gently back into their sanctuary for another day, calling Minho to apologise.

"You don’t need to say sorry," Minho tells him gently. "We’re managing here, and as long as you’re keeping him safe, it’s ok."

"We’re taking care of each other," Chan promises, and Minho laughs softly down the phone.

"Yeah," he says. "That’s what you two do."

Chan invites Hyunjin and Seungmin over that evening, just to try to make things a little more lively, and it works; as much as he enjoyed spending the morning curled close with Jeongin, exchanging kisses and laughter, it’s nice to see his friends again. It makes it seem less like the world has just fallen apart again, somehow. The four of them eat huddled around the too-small kitchen table, and Chan spends every moment he’s not laughing just… watching the three of them. The way Hyunjin looks at Jeongin with such kindness, and such understanding, and the way Jeongin’s eyes shine with some childlike wonder at Seungmin. They’d be good friends, Chan thinks. They  _ will _ be good friends, he hopes.

"Oh, you should come to the wedding!" Hyunjin bursts out at one point, reaching to grab Jeongin’s wrist. "No happier occasion to get to know new friends, right?"

"You don’t need to invite him," Chan points out. "He’s coming as my plus one."

"Oh, am I now?"

"I mean, if you fancy it. I think it’s normal to bring your partner to these things."

Hyunjin’s eyes go wide as he glances between the two of them. "Wait, did you two-"

"I’ll think about it," Jeongin interrupts. "If only for the sake of making sure no strangers flirt with you."

"Jealous?" Seungmin asks, and Jeongin laughs.

"No," he says. "I just think Chan would run a mile out of embarrassment and miss a good party."

"Hey," Chan complains, and Seungmin breaks into a grin.

"Oh, we’re inviting you to the wedding even if Chan can’t make it," he promises Jeongin. "I think you’ll make things more fun."

"He does," Chan agrees. "Trust me."

And Jeongin smiles at him, soft and warm, and Chan thinks he sees his future in it.


	12. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have a wedding for the epilogue!
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who's read this, especially those of you who left comments and kudos! They always mean a lot.
> 
> I have exams in March so I'll most likely be back in April with some SeungChan; if you want to hear more about it, and my other WIPs, come say hi on tumblr! My username is the same as on here.
> 
> Thank you again for reading!  
> Love, Nettle <3

Almost a year later, Chan is hovering outside the home, leaning on his little car and waiting for Jeongin. His suit is laid out gently on the back seat; the wedding venue is quite a way away, and he and Jeongin are staying in the hotel the night before along with a lot of the other guests.

If they manage to get on the road before dusk, that is.

The door opens, and Chan straightens up, expecting to open the car door so that Jeongin can lay his own suit down. But it’s Felix, Ruva poking her head out from behind him. She waves, and Chan waves back.

"Sorry, Chan," Felix says. "He’ll be two minutes."

"No problem. The wedding’s not until tomorrow, so as long as we set off today we ought to be fine."

Felix laughs. "It’ll definitely be today," he promises. "He might end up sleeping in the car, though. Maisie was sick, and he ended up staying with her until about three in the morning."

"She doing ok?"

"Yeah, she’s fine. Exclusively on water and dry biscuits today, though."

Before Chan can reply, Jeongin appears in the doorway, waving over the top of Felix’s head with a tired smile. His suit is draped over one arm, and Chan leans over to take it from him once he’s made his way down the stairs, and kisses him quickly as he does so.

"Hey," he says, and Jeongin’s smile grows just a little wider.

"Hi. Sorry I’m late."

"Don’t worry about it. We’ve got time. Put your bag in the boot and we’ll get going."

"Thanks."

They bustle around for a moment, Chan making sure that Jeongin’s suit isn’t going to crease on the journey, Jeongin saying goodbye to Ruva and Felix, and shouting up through the house to the others. He folds himself into the passenger seat, wincing a little before he manages to move his seat back to give himself some leg room, and Chan laughs. Jeongin glares at him.

"Not all of us are pocket-sized," he remarks, and Chan raises his eyebrows.

"You could get the train. I don’t have to drive you."

"But you love me, so you will."

"You’re right. I do."

Felix is right about Jeongin; he falls asleep as soon as they’re out of the city, lapsing into longer and longer bouts of silence between sentences until Chan glances over to see that his eyes have slipped closed, lips slightly parted as he dreams. It’ll take them a few hours to reach their destination, and as much as Chan enjoys just sitting and  _ talking _ to Jeongin, he knows there’ll be time for that over dinner; so for now, he just sits in silence, turning the radio down to barely a murmur so that he can sleep.

* * *

The hours pass quickly once they arrive; they’re given the key to their  _ absurdly _ extravagant room; they have dinner with Hyunjin’s Guardians, who welcome them to the table as though they’ve all known each other for years; they collapse into their bed, big enough for them to lie almost three feet apart- they don’t, though. They sleep as close as they always do when they're together, with Chan’s head tucked under Jeongin’s chin.

And before they really have time to think about it, it’s Hyunjin and Seungmin’s wedding day.

"You look- wow," Chan manages to say as he emerges from the bathroom to see Jeongin pulling on his suit jacket. "You look good in a suit."

Jeongin’s smile is more relieved than flattered. "It’s ok? I’ve never really worn one before, and Minho and Jisung spent  _ ages _ helping me pick one out, and I just- I wasn’t sure."

"You look gorgeous," Chan reassures him, leaning up for a kiss. Jeongin meets him halfway, and they stay there for just a moment, enjoying the calm before the inevitable hum of an eventful day.

Eventually, Jeongin pulls away. "Come on," he says. "You need to get dressed, too. You can’t go to a wedding without a shirt on."

"Oh, I could. I just wouldn’t stay there long."

"Hyunjin would dump your body in the river."

"He absolutely would."

* * *

The ceremony passes faster than Chan expects; he’d been told that weddings tend to drag, full of endless speeches and boring repetitions, but Hyunjin and Seungmin seem to have arranged for the process to be streamlined somewhat. They still cry when they say their vows, though, and Chan feels Jeongin grip his hand tight enough to hurt as they speak.

"And I shall be peace for you, my love, when you can find none in the world outside," Hyunjin chokes out. "And I shall be healing when it wounds you."

"And I shall be light for you, my love, when the night outside is dark," Seungmin continues, and his voice is just a little steadier, but Chan can see his eyes shining. "And I shall be the way when you are lost."

By the time they slip the rings onto each other’s fingers, hands shaking so much they can barely manage, Chan is crying too. Jeongin wipes his tears away gently once Hyunjin and Seungmin have left, the scent of the hyacinth blossoms caught in their hair trailing after them. They’re everywhere within the wedding venue, in shades of white and violet-blue, and Chan had taken the time to ask Seungmin why the night before.

"They mean hope," he’d told him softly. "And we thought, after everything… we don’t need flowers that mean love, Hyunjin and I. He knows I love him, and I know he loves me. But hope… that’s something we’ve always given each other. Through everything. So hyacinths felt right, really."

Chan likes that, he decides. Hope, after everything.

* * *

The reception is considerably less emotional; one of Hyunjin’s Guardians and Seungmin’s father both give little speeches, sharing anecdotes about their sons that make the guests laugh and the grooms turn red, Hyunjin hiding his face in Seungmin’s shoulder until Seungmin pulls him onto the dance floor for their first dance. It’s not particularly elegant, or strikingly romantic, but it’s…  _ them _ , somehow. The way they sway, fitting perfectly in each other’s arms, singing along to the song softly enough that only they can hear; the way Hyunjin has to duck, giggling, when Seungmin spins him under his arm; the sweetness with which they kiss when the song fades and the rest of the party applauds, flooding onto the dance floor.

Jeongin and Chan dance together for a while, with wild, wacky moves to make each other laugh; eventually Hyunjin and Seungmin come to say hello and they end up joining in, flailing their limbs and twisting their bodies to some faint semblance of the rhythm of the song. But they disappear, waving goodbye as they go to greet more guests, and Jeongin and Chan are left alone again for a little while.

"This is nice," Jeongin says in his ear as they sway together, rocking vaguely from foot to foot. "I’m happy."

"Yeah," Chan agrees. "Me, too."

"Hello, everybody!" He hears Hyunjin call from the stage, the microphone feedback ringing for a moment as Seungmin laughs breathlessly into his shoulder. "Wow, I’m a tiny bit too drunk to be up here. Sorry. There are kids around. But! The point is, someone- thank you, Yeji- reminded us that we forgot to throw this!" He holds up the bouquet of hyacinths and sweetpeas he’d held as his Guardians walked him down the aisle to Seungmin, tied with a delicate lace ribbon.

"So," Seungmin says, leaning into the microphone. "We’re going to do that now. Sorry to make you stop dancing, but if you’re already married, please feel free to go and get a drink now to avoid any awkwardness if you catch this."

Hyunjin bursts out laughing at that, and Seungmin’s face twitches into a smile before he struggles to compose himself. "Ok. Are you ready?"

The party cheers in response, and Seungmin grins, turning around and taking Hyunjin’s hand to wrap around the bouquet so that they can throw it together. "One, two… _three!"_

The flowers sail through the air, shining white as moonlight.

Hands reach up, fingers just brushing the stems.

And the bouquet hits Jeongin directly in the chest.

Chan watches his eyes widen as he grabs it instinctively, holding it in both hands like he doesn’t quite know what to do with it. After a moment, though, he holds it up so that Seungmin and Hyunjin can see it, and the crowd cheers again as Hyunjin’s expression lights up.

"Jeongin! You’d better make sure Chan invites Seungmin and I."

"I will," Jeongin calls, laughing, and Chan feels himself turn a little red as people turn to look at them. Jeongin hands him the flowers so that he can hide his face in them, but their attention quickly fades as Hyunjin and Seungmin thank them again for coming, and make their way off the stage. The music starts up again, and Chan takes a few sweetpeas from the bouquet to tuck behind Jeongin’s ear before putting it down so that they can dance. It’s more of a waltz this time, and neither of them are particularly good at it, but Chan doesn’t mind. He’s just happy to be dancing with Jeongin.

"Did they embarrass you?" Jeongin asks after a little while. "Hyunjin and Seungmin."

"A little bit," Chan admits. "But not in a bad way."

"Was it…" Jeongin hesitates. "Was it talking about us getting married? Was that what you found embarrassing?"

"No," Chan tells him softly. "It wasn’t that."

"Ok. Good." For a moment, Jeongin stops speaking, but Chan waits, sensing he has more to say. "I just… I don’t think it would be too bad. You know, if we…"

"Got married?"

"Yeah. I mean- I know it wouldn’t exactly be normal, it’s- not with my job, we couldn’t move in together, or… I don’t know. Maybe there wouldn’t be any point."

Chan frowns. He knows that it bothers Jeongin, sometimes, the way their relationship works; or rather, it doesn’t bother  _ him _ , but he worries that it bothers Chan. They can’t see each other every day, after all, can’t sleep side by side and wake up next to one another very often; Jeongin may be Chan’s, but he’s a parent too, to children who need him for support with their powers along with everything else a child needs. Chan understands that, though. He understands that Jeongin loves him, even if they can’t be each other’s entire lives in the way Hyunjin and Seungmin are.

"I think it would be nice, someday," he says, and Jeongin’s eyes widen. "Even if we can’t live together, even if-" He pauses. "I was going to say even if we can’t be a normal couple, but that’s bullshit."

"Chan! There are children at this wedding."   


Chan laughs, pulling Jeongin a little closer. "You’re being a dad again. These kids have parents, you know, you can’t just steal them."

"Oh, shut up," Jeongin says fondly, pressing his forehead to Chan’s. "Well. Don’t shut up. You were making a point. Keep making it."

"I was saying," Chan tells him, "that I wouldn’t care if we couldn’t be a traditional married couple. I love you. You love me. That’s what a marriage is about, right?"

"I guess so," Jeongin murmurs, and then laughs softly. "Look at us, talking about getting married when it’s not even been a year. This is probably a conversation for a later date, really."

"Maybe," Chan agrees. "Never hurts to know that we’re on the same page, though."

"Yeah, you’re right. I’m glad we are."

If he’s honest, Chan doesn’t think that it’s too soon to talk about it. Jeongin could ask him to elope tomorrow and he’d say yes. After everything they’ve been through, after everything they’ve  _ supported _ each other through… Chan’s not letting Jeongin go again. He doesn’t think he could. Not when he loves him this much. Not when those rare mornings when Jeongin is wrapped around him in his bed, murmuring softly in his sleep, are some of the happiest moments of his life.

He looks at the sweetpeas tucked behind Jeongin’s ear, shining under the glow of the lights, and thinks of the hyacinths littering the wedding, and of Hyunjin and Seungmin’s vows.

_ And I shall be peace for you, my love, when you can find none in the world outside. _ _   
_ _ And I shall be healing when it wounds you. _ _   
_ _ And I shall be light for you, my love, when the night outside is dark. _ _   
_ __ And I shall be the way when you are lost.

He leans up, kissing Jeongin slowly as they sway. "I love you," he tells him softly as he pulls away, and Jeongin smiles, eyes shining as though stars have landed in their depths.

"I love you, too," he says, and Chan knows that everything is going to be alright.


End file.
